Measure for Measure.Thou hast; neither heate, affection, limbe,
To make thy riches pleasant: what's yet in thisThat beares the name of life? Yet in this life
Lie hid moe thousand deaths; yet death we feareThat makes these oddes, all euen.Cla.I humblie thanke you.To sue to liue, I finde I seeke to die,And seeking death, finde life: Let it come on.Enter Isabella.Isab.
What hoa? Peace heere; Grace, and good com
Pro.Who's there? Come in, the wish deserues a
Duke.Deere sir, ere long Ile visit you againe.Cla.Most holie Sir, I thanke you.Isa.My businesse is a word or two with
And verie welcom: looke Signior, here's your
Duke.Prouost, a word with you.Pro.As manie as you please.Duke.Bring them to heare me speak, where I may be
Cla.Now sister, what's the comfort?Isa.
Why,As all comforts are: most good, most good
Angelo hauing affaires to
Intends you for his swift Ambassador,Where you shall be an euerlasting Leiger;
Therefore your best appointment make with speed,To Morrow you set on.Clau.Is there no remedie?Isa.None, but such remedie, as to saue a headTo cleaue a heart in twaine:Clau.
But is there anie?Isa.Yes brother, you may liue;There is a diuellish mercie in the Iudge,If you'l implore it, that will free your life,But fetter you till death.Cla.
Perpetuall durance?Isa.I iust, perpetuall durance, a restraintThrough all the worlds vastiditie you hadTo a determin'd scope.Clau.But in what nature?Isa.
In such a one, as you consenting too't,Would barke your honor from that trunke you beare,And leaue you naked.Clau.Let me know the point.Isa.Oh, I do feare thee
Claudio, and I
Least thou a feauorous life shouldst entertaine,And six or seuen winters more respect
Then a perpetuall Honor. Dar'st thou die?The sence of death is most in apprehension,And the poore Beetle that we treade vpon
In corporall sufferance, finds a pang as great,As when a Giant dies.Cla.Why giue you me this shame?Thinke you I can a resolution fetchFrom flowrie tendernesse? If I must die,
I will encounter darknesse as a bride,And hugge it in mine armes.Isa.There spake my brother: there my fathers graueDid vtter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die:Thou art too noble, to conserue a life
In base appliances. This outward sainted Deputie,Whose setled visage, and deliberate wordNips youth i'th head, and follies doth emmew
As Falcon doth the Fowle, is yet a diuell:His filth within being cast, he would appeare
A pond, as deepe as hell.Cla.The prenzie,
Isa.Oh 'tis the cunning Liuerie of hell,The damnest bodie to inuest, and couerIn prenzie gardes; dost thou thinke
If I would yeeld him my virginitieThou might'st be freed?Cla.Oh heauens, it cannot be.Isa.Yes, he would giu't thee; from this rank offenceSo to offend him still. This night's the
That I should do what I abhorre to name,Or else thou diest to morrow.Clau.Thou shalt not do't.Isa.O, were it but my life,I'de throw it downe for your deliuerance
As frankely as a pin.Clau.Thankes deere
Claudio, for your death to
Clau.Yes. Has he affections in him,That thus can make him bite the Law by th'nose,
When he would force it? Sure it is no sinne,Or of the deadly seuen it is the least.Isa.Which is the least?Cla.If it were damnable, he being so wise,Why would he for the momentarie tricke
Be perdurablie fin'de? Oh
Isabell.Isa.What saies my brother?Cla.Death is a fearefull thing.Isa.And shamed life, a hatefull.Cla.I, but to die, and go we know not where,
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot,This sensible warme motion, to becomeA kneaded clod; And the delighted spiritTo bath in fierie floods, or to recideIn thrilling Region of thicke‑ribbed Ice,
To be imprison'd in the viewlesse windesAnd blowne with restlesse violence round aboutThe pendant world: or to be worse then worstOf those, that lawlesse and incertaine thought,Imagine howling, 'tis too horrible.
The weariest, and most loathed worldly lifeThat Age, Ache, periury, and imprisonmentCan lay on nature, is a ParadiseTo what we feare of death.Isa.Alas, alas.Cla.
Sweet Sister, let me liue.What sinne you do, to saue a brothers life,Nature dispenses with the deede so farre,That it becomes a vertue.Isa.Oh you beast,
Oh faithlesse Coward, oh dishonest wretch,Wilt thou be made a man, out of my vice?Is't not a kinde of Incest, to take lifeFrom thine owne sisters shame? What should I thinke,Heauen shield my Mother plaid my Father faire:
For such a warped slip of wildernesseNere issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance,Die, perish: Might but my bending downeRepreeue thee from thy fate, it should proceede.Ile pray a thousand praiers for thy death,
No word to saue thee.Cla.Nay heare me
Isabell.Isa.Oh fie, fie, fie:Thy sinn's not accidentall, but a Trade;Mercie