That brain'd my purpose: But peace be with him!
That life is better life, past fearing death,

Than that which lives to fear: make it your comfort,
So happy is your brother.

Isab.

Re-enter Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost.
I do, my lord.

Duke. For this new-married man, approaching here,
Whose foul 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 would'st 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.

Mari.

O my most gracious lord,

I hope you will not mock me with a husband!

Duke. 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.

Mari.

O, my dear lord,

I crave no other nor no better man.

Duke. Never crave him; we are definitive.

Mari. [Kneeling.] Gentle, my liege,

Duke.

You do but lose your labour;

Away with him to death.-[To Lucio.] Now, sir, to you. Mari. 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. Against all sense you do impórtune 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.

Isabel,

Mari.
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. He dies for Claudio's death.

Isab. [Kneeling.]

Most bounteous sir

Look if it please you, on this man condemn'd,
As if my brother liv'd: 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.

Mari.

Merely, my lord.
Duke. 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?

Prov.

It was commanded so.

Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed?
Prov. No, my good lord; it was by private message.
Duke. For which I do discharge you of your office:
Give up your keys.

Prov.
Pardon me, noble lord:
I thought it was a fault, but knew it not;
Yet did repent me after more advice:1
For testimony whereof, one in the prison,
That should by private order else have died,
I have reserv'd alive.

Duke.

Prov.

What's he?

[Exit Provost.

His name is Barnardine.
Duke. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio.—
Go, fetch him hither; let me look upon him.
Escal. 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.

Ang. 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.

Re-enter Provost, Barnardine, Claudio, and Juliet.
Duke. Which is that Barnardine?

Prov.

This, my lord.

Duke. 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 squar'st 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?

1 Consideration.

Prov. This is another prisoner that I sav'd,
That should have died when Claudio lost his head;
As like almost to Claudio as himself.

[Unmuffles Claudio. Duke. [To Isabella.] If he be like your brother, for his sake Is he pardon'd; and for your lovely sake,

Give me your hand, and say you will be mine,
He is my brother too: But fitter time for that.
By this lord Angelo perceives he's safe;
Methinks, I see a quick'ning in his eye :-
Well, Angelo, your evil quits1 you well:

Look that you love your wife; her worth, worth yours.—
I find an apt remission in myself:

And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon:

You, sirrah, [To Lucio.] that knew me for a fool, a coward,
One all of luxury, an ass, a madman;

Wherein have I so deserved of you,

That you extol me thus?

Lucio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to the trick:2 If you will hang me for it, you may, but I had rather it would please you, I might be whipp'd.

Duke. Whipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after. —
Proclaim it, provost, round about the city;
If any woman's wrong'd by this lewd fellow,
(As I have heard him swear himself, there's one),

Let her appear, and he shall marry her :

The nuptial finish'd, let him be whipp'd and hang'd.

Lucio. I beseech your highness, do not marry me so.

Your

highness said even now, I made you a duke; good my lord, do

not recompense me so.

Duke. 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 me so, my lord, is pressing to death, whip

ping, and hanging.

Duke. Sland'ring 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 shall 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. [Exeunt.

SCENE 1.-BEFORE LEONATO'S HOUSE.

Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, and others, with a Messenger. Leon. I learn in this letter, that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night to Messina.

Mess. He is very near by this; he was not three leagues off when I left him.

Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this action? Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name.

Leon. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever brings home full numbers. I find here, that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young Florentine, called Claudio.

Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered by Don Pedro: He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age; doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion: he hath, indeed, better bettered expectation, than you must expect of me to tell you how.

Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it.

Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much joy in him; even so much, that joy could not show itself modest enough, without a badge of bitterness.

Leon. Did he break out into tears?

Mess. In great measure.1

1 Abundance.

Leon. A kind overflow of kindness: There are no faces truer than those that are so washed. How much better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at weeping.

Beat. I pray you, is signior Montanto returned from the wars, or no?

Mess. I know none of that name, lady; there was none such in the army of any sort.

Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece?

Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of Padua.

Mess. O, he is returned; and as pleasant as ever he was. Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and challenged Cupid at the flight and my uncle's fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt.-I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he killed? for, indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing. Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too much; but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not.

Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars. Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it: he is a very valiant trencher-man, he hath an excellent stomach. Mess. And a good soldier too, lady.

Beat. And a good soldier to a lady.-But what is he to a lord? Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man, stuffed with all honourable virtues.

Beat. It is so, indeed, he is no less than a stuffed man but for the stuffing.-Well, we are all mortal.

Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece: there is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Benedick and her: they never meet, but there is a skirmish of wit between them.

Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict, four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one: so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature.-Who is his companion now? He hath every month a new sworn brother.

Mess. Is it possible?

Beat. Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the next block.

Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books. Beat. No: an he were, I would burn my study. But, I pray you, who is his companion? Is there no young squarer1 now, that will make a voyage with him to the devil?

Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio. Beat. He will hang upon him like a disease: he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. Heaven help the noble Claudio! if he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured.

Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady.

Beat. Do, good friend.

Leon. You will never run mad, niece.

Beat. No, not till a hot January.

Mess. Don Pedro is approached.

1 Quarreller.