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Escal. Hath she had any more than one husband ?
Clown. Nine, fır: Over-don by the last.

Escal. Nine? Come hither to me, master Froth: master Froth, I would not have you acquainted with tapsters; they will draw you, master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let me hear no more of

you. Froth. I thank your worship; for mine own part, I never come into any room in a taphouse, but I am drawn in. Escal. Well; no more of it, master Froth; farewel. [Exit Froth.

SCENE IV. Come you hither to me, master tapster; what's

master tapster; what's your name, master tapster?

Clown. Pompey.
Escal. What else?
Clown. Bum, fir.

Escal. Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you, so that, in the beastliest sense, you are Pompey the great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, Pompey; howsoever you colour it in being a tapster; are you not ? come, tell me true, it shall be the better

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Clown. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live. Escal. How would you live, Pompey? by being a bawd? what do you think of the trade, Pompey? is it a lawful trade?

Clown. If the law will allow it, fir.

Escal. But the law will not allow it, Pompey, and it shall not be allowed in Vienna.

Clown. Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the youth in the city?

Escal. No, Pompey.

Clown. Truly, fir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then. If your worship will take order for the drabs and knaves, you need not to fear the bawds.

Escal. There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: it is but heading and hanging.

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Clown. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten years together, you'll be glad to give out a commission for more heads : if this law hold in Vienna ten years, I'll rent the fairest house in it after three pence a bay: if you live to see this come to pass, say, Pompey told


Escal. Thank you, good Pompey; and in requital of

your prophecy, hark

I advise

you let me not find
me again upon any complaint whatsoever ; no, not for dwelling
where you do: if I do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent,
and prove a shrewd Cæfar to you: in plain dealing, Pompey, I
shall have you whip’d: so for this time, Pompey, fare you well.

Clown. I thank your worship for your good counsel; but I
shall follow it, as the flesh and fortune shall better determine.
Whip me? no, no; let carman whip his jade;
The valiant heart's not whip’d out of his trade. [Exit.

Escal. Come hither to me, master Elbow; come hither, master
constable; how long have you been in this place of constable ?

Elb. Seven year and an half, sir.

Escal. I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had continued in it some time: you say, seven years together ?

Elb. And a half, sir.

Escal. Alas! it hath been great pains to you: they do you wrong to put you so oft upon’t: are there not men in


ward sufficient to serve it?

Elb. ’Faith, fir, few of any wit in such matters; as they are chosen they are glad to choose me for them. I do it for some piece of money,


go through with all. Escal. Look you, bring me in the names of some fix or seven, the most sufficient

your parish. Elb. To your worship’s house, sir? Escal. To my house; fare you well. What's o'clock, think

[Exit Elbow. Juft. Eleven, fir.

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Escal. I pray you, go home to dinner with me.
Juft. I humbly thank

Escal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio :
But there's no remedy.

Juft. Lord Angelo is severe.

Escal. It is but needful :
Mercy is not itself, that oft looks fo;
Pardon is still the nurse of second wo:
But yet, poor Claudio! there's no remedy.
Come, sir,

[Exeunt. SCENE VI.

Enter Provost, and a Servant.
Serv. He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight :
I'll tell him of you.

Prov. Pray you, do; I'll know
His pleasure; may be, he'll relent; alas !
He hath but as offended in a dream:
All sects, all ages smack o'th'vice; and he
To die for it!

Enter Angelo
Ang. Now, what's the matter, provost?
Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow?

Ang. Did not I tell thee, yea? hadst thou not order ?
Why ask again?

Prov. Left I might be too rash.
Under your good correction, I have seen
When after execution judgment hath
Repented o'er his doom.

Ang. Let that be mine;
Do you your office, or give up your place,
And you shall well be spar’d.

Prov. I crave your pardon.
What shall be done, fir, with the groaning Juliet ?
She's very near her hour.


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Ang. Dispose of her
To some more fitting place, and that with speed.

Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd,
Defires access to you.

Ang. Hath he a sister?

Prov. Ay, my good lord, a very virtuous maid,
And to be shortly of a sisterhood,
If not already.
Ang. Let her be admitted.

[Exit Servant. See you

the fornicatress be remov'd; Let her have needful, but not lavish means; There shall be order for it.

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Enter Lucio, and Isabella.
Prov. 'Save your honour !
Ang. Stay yet a while. Y'are welcome; what's your will ?

Isab. I am a woful suitor to your honour,
Please but your honour hear me.
Ang. What's


fuit ?
Ifab. There is a vice that most I do abhor,
And most desire should meet the blow of justice,
For which I would not plead, but that I must;
For which I must plead, albeit I am
At war 'twixt will, and will not.

Ang. Well; the matter?

Isab. I have a brother is condemn’d to-day; I do beseech you, let it be his fault,

Prov. Heav'n give thee moving graces !

Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it?
Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done;
Mine were the very cipher of a function
To fine the faults, whose fine star ds in record,
And let go by the actor..

And not my

Isab. O just, but severe law!
I had a brother then ; — heav'n keep your honour !

Lucio. Give't not o'er fo: to him again, entreat him,
Kneel down before him, hang upon


gown ;
You are too cold; if you should need a pin,
You could not with a more tame tongue desire it.
To him, I say.

Ifab. Must he needs die
Ang. Maiden, no remedy.

Ifab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him,
And neither heav'n nor man grieve at the mercy, .

Ang. I will not do’t.
Isab. But can you


Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.

Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong,
If fo your heart were touch'd with that remorse
As mine is to him?

Ang. He's sentenc'd; 'tis too late.
Lucio. You are too cold. .

Isab. Too late? why, no; I that do speak a word,

, call it back again : and believe this,
No ceremony that to great ones belongs,
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed fword,
The marshaľ's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half so good a grace
As mercy does: if he had been as you,
And you as he, you would have slip'd like him;
But he, like you, would not have been so stern.

Ang. Pray you, be gone.

Isab. I would to heav'n I had your potency, And you were Isabel! should it then be thus? No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, And what a prisoner.

Lucio. Ay, touch him; there's the vein.

Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, And you but waste your words.


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