Ifab. Courfe of justice!

Ang. And the will speak most bitterly, and strange. (28) Ifab. Moft ftrange, but yet moft truly, will I fpeak; That Angelo's forfworn: is it not strange?

That Angelo's a murth'rer: is't not strange?
That Angelo is an adult'rous thief,
An hypocrite, a virgin-violater:
Is it not strange and strange?

Duke. Nay, it is ten times ftrange.
Ifab. 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
To th' end of reckoning.

Duke. Away with her: poor foul,
She fpeaks this in th' infirmity of sense.

Ifab. O Prince, Iconjure thee, as thou believ'ft There is another comfort than this world,

That thou neglect me not; with that opinion

That I am touch'd with madness. Make not impoffible
That, which but feems unlike; 'tis not impoffible,
But one, the wicked'ft caitiff on the ground,
May feem as fhy, as grave, as juft, as abfolute,
As Angelo; even fo may Angelo,

In all his dreffings, caracts, titles, forms,
Be an arch-villain: believe it, royal Prince,
If he be lefs, he's nothing; but he's more,
Had I more name for badness.

Duke. By mine honesty,

If the be mad, as I believe no other,
Her madness hath the oddeft frame of fenfe ;
Such a dependency of thing on thing,

As e'er I heard in madness.

Ifab. Gracious Duke,

(28) And he will speak most bitterly.] Thus is the Verfe left imperfect by Mr. Rowe and Mr. Pope; tho' the old Copies all fill it up, as I have done. I have reftor'd an infinite Number of fuch Paffages tacitly from the first Impreffions: but I thought proper to take notice, once for all, here, that as Mr. Pope follows Mr. Rowe's Edition in his Errors and Omiffions, it gives great Sufpicion, notwithstanding the pretended Collation of Copies, that Mr. Pope, for the Generality, took Mr. Rowe's Edition as his Guide.

Harp

Harp not on That; nor do not banish reason
For inequality; but let your reason ferve
To make the truth appear, where it seems hid;
Not hide the falfe, feems true.

Duke. Many, that are not mad,
Have, fure, more lack of reason.
What would you say?

Ifab. I am the fifter of one Claudio,
Condemn'd upon the A&t of fornication
To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo:
I, in probation of a fifterhood,

Was fent to by my brother; one Lucio,
As then the meffenger,

Lucio. That's I, an't like your Grace:

I came to her from Claudio, and defir'd her
To try her gracious fortune with lord Angelo,
For her poor brother's Pardon.

Ifab. That's he, indeed.

Duke. You were not bid to speak.

[To Lucio.

Lucio. No, my good lord, nor wifh'd to hold my

peace.

Duke. I wish you now then;

Pray you, take note of it: and when you have
A bufinefs for your felf, pray heav'n, you then
Be perfect.

Lucio. I warrant your Honour.

Duke. The warrant's for your felf; take heed to't.
Ifab. This gentleman told fomewhat of my tale.
Lucio. Right.

Duke. It may be right, but you are in the wrong To speak before your time. Proceed.

Ifab. I went

To this pernicious caitiff Deputy.

Duke. That's fomewhat madly fpoken.
Ifab. Pardon it:

The phrase is to the matter.

Duke. Mended again: the matter; -proceed.
Ifab. In brief; (to fet the needlefs Process by,
How I perfuaded, how I pray'd and kneel'd,
How he repell'd me, and how I reply'd;
VOL. I.

C c

For

For this was of much length) the vile conclufion
I now begin with grief and fhame to utter.
He would not, but by gift of my chafte body
To his concupifcent intemp'rate luft,

Release my brother; and after much debatement,
My fifterly Remorse confutes mine Honour,

And I did yield to him: But the next morn betimes,
His purpose surfeiting, he fends a Warrant
For my poor brother's head.

Duke. This is most likely!

Ifab. Oh, that it were as like, as it is true!
Duke. By heav'n, fond wretch, thou know'ft not
what thou speak'ft;

Or elfe thou art fuborn'd against his honour
In hateful practice. Firft, his integrity

Stands without blemish; next, it imports no reason,
That with fuch vehemence he should purfue
Faults proper to himself: if he had fo offended,
He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself,
And not have cut him off. Some one hath fet you on;
Confefs the truth, and fay, by whofe advice
Thou cam'ft here to complain.

Ifab. And is this all?

Then, oh, you blessed minifters above!

Keep me in patience; and with ripen'd time,
Unfold, the evil which is here wrapt up

In countenance: Heav'n fhield your Grace from woe,
As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved

go.

Duke. I know you'd fain be gone. An Officer;

To prifon with her. Shall we thus permit
A blafting and a fcandalous breath to fall
On him fo near us? this needs must be a practice.
Who knew of your intent, and coming hither?

Ifab. One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick.
Duke. A ghoftly father, belike:

Who knows that Lodowick?

Lucio. My lord, I know him; 'tis a medling Friar; I do not like the man; had he been Lay, my lord, For certain words he fpake against your Grace In your retirement, I had fwing'd him foundly.

Duke.

Duke. Words against me? this is a good Friar, belike; And to fet on this wretched woman here Against our Substitute! let this Friar be found. Lucio. But yefternight, my lord, fhe and that Friar, I saw them at the prifon : a fawcy Friar, A very fcurvy fellow.

Peter. Bleffed be your royal Grace!

I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard
Your royal ear abus'd. First, hath this woman
Moft wrongfully accus'd your Substitute;
Who is as free from touch or foil with her,
As the from one ungot.

Duke. We did believe no lefs.

Know you that Friar Lodowick, which she speaks of? Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy; Not fcurvy, nor a temporary medler,

As he's reported by this gentleman;

And, on my Truft, a man that never yet

Did, as he vouches, mifreport your Grace.

Lucio. My lord, moft villanously; believe it. Peter. Well, he in time may come to clear himself, But at this inftant he is fick, my lord,

Of a strange fever. On his meer request,
(Being come to knowledge that there was Complaint
Intended 'gainst lord Angelo) came I hither

To speak as from his mouth, what he doth know
Is true, and false; and what he with his oath
By all Probation will make up full clear,
Whenever he's conven'd. First, for this woman;
To juftifie this worthy Nobleman,

So vulgarly and perfonally accus'd,

Her fhall you hear difproved to her eyes, 'Till fhe her self confefs it.

Duke. Good Friar, let's hear it.

Do you not smile at this, lord Angelo?
O heav'n! the vanity of wretched fools! -
Give us fome feats; come, Coufin Angelo, (29)

(29)

Cc 2

In

In this I will be partial: be you Judge

Of your own Caufe. Is this the witness, Friar? [Ifabella is carried off, guarded.

Enter Mariana veil'd.

First, let her fhew her face; and after, speak.
Mari. Pardon, my lord, I will not fhew my face,
Until my husband bid me.

Duke. What, are you marry'd?

Mari. No, my lord.

Duke. Are you a maid?

Mari. No, my lord.

Duke. A widow then?
Mari. Neither, my lord.

Duke. Why, are you nothing then? neither maid, widow, nor wife?

Lucio. My lord, fhe may be a punk; for many of them are neither maid, widow, nor wife.

Duke. Silence that fellow: I would, he had fome cause to prattle for himself.

Lucio. Well, my lord.

Mari. My lord, I do confefs, I ne'er was marry'd;' And, I confefs befides, I am no maid;

I've known my husband; yet my husband knows not, That ever he knew me.

Lucio. He was drunk then, my lord; it can be no better.

Duke. For the benefit of filence, would thou wert fo too.

Lucio. Well, my lord.

Duke. This is no witnefs for lord Angelo.

Of your own Caufe.] Surely, this Duke had odd Notions of Impartiality; to profefs it, and then commit the Decifion of a Caufe to the Perfon accus'd of being the Criminal. He talks much more rationally

on this Affair, when he fpeaks in the Character of the Friar.

The Duke's unjust,

Thus to retort your manifeft Appeal;

And put your Trial in the Villain's mouth,

Which here you come t'accuse.·

I think, there needs no stronger Authority to convince, that the Poet muft have wrote as I have corrected;

In this I will be partial;