SCENE V. A Nunnery.

       [Enter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA.]

       ISABELLA.

       And have you nuns no further privileges?

       FRANCISCA.

       Are not these large enough?

       ISABELLA.

       Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more,

       But rather wishing a more strict restraint

       Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare.

       LUCIO.

       [Within.] Ho! Peace be in this place!

       ISABELLA.

       Who’s that which calls?

       FRANCISCA.

       It is a man’s voice. Gentle Isabella,

       Turn you the key, and know his business of him;

       You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn:

       When you have vow’d, you must not speak with men

       But in the presence of the prioress;

       Then, if you speak, you must not show your face;

       Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.

       He calls again; I pray you answer him.

       [Exit FRANCISCA.]

       ISABELLA.

       Peace and prosperity! Who is’t that calls?

       [Enter LUCIO.]

       LUCIO.

       Hail, virgin, if you be; as those cheek-roses

       Proclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me

       As bring me to the sight of Isabella,

       A novice of this place, and the fair sister

       To her unhappy brother Claudio?

       ISABELLA.

       Why her unhappy brother? let me ask;

       The rather, for I now must make you know

       I am that Isabella, and his sister.

       LUCIO.

       Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you:

       Not to be weary with you, he’s in prison.

       ISABELLA.

       Woe me! For what?

       LUCIO.

       For that which, if myself might be his judge,

       He should receive his punishment in thanks:

       He hath got his friend with child.

       ISABELLA.

       Sir, make me not your story.

       LUCIO.

       It is true.

       I would not—though ‘tis my familiar sin

       With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest,

       Tongue far from heart—play with all virgins so:

       I hold you as a thing ensky’d and sainted;

       By your renouncement an immortal spirit;

       And to be talk’d with in sincerity,

       As with a saint.

       ISABELLA.

       You do blaspheme the good in mocking me.

       LUCIO.

       Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, ‘tis thus:

       Your brother and his lover have embraced:

       As those that feed grow full: as blossoming time,

       That from the seedness the bare fallow brings

       To teeming foison; even so her plenteous womb

       Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.

       ISABELLA.

       Some one with child by him?—My cousin Juliet?

       LUCIO.

       Is she your cousin?

       ISABELLA.

       Adoptedly, as school-maids change their names

       By vain though apt affection.

       LUCIO.

       She it is.

       ISABELLA.

       O, let him marry her!

       LUCIO.

       This is the point.

       The duke is very strangely gone from hence;

       Bore many gentlemen, myself being one,

       In hand, and hope of action: but we do learn

       By those that know the very nerves of state,

       His givings out were of an infinite distance

       From his true-meant design. Upon his place,

       And with full line of his authority,

       Governs Lord Angelo: a man whose blood

       Is very snow-broth; one who never feels

       The wanton stings and motions of the sense.

       But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge

       With profits of the mind, study, and fast.

       He,—to give fear to use and liberty,

       Which have for long run by the hideous law,

       As mice by lions,—hath pick’d out an act,

       Under whose heavy sense your brother’s life

       Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it;

       And follows close the rigour of the statute

       To make him an example; all hope is gone.

       Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer

       To soften Angelo: and that’s my pith

       Of business ‘twixt you and your poor brother.

       ISABELLA.

       Doth he so seek his life?

       LUCIO.

       Has censur’d him

       Already; and, as I hear, the provost hath

       A warrant for his execution.

       ISABELLA.

       Alas! what poor ability’s in me

       To do him good.

       LUCIO.

       Assay the power you have.

       ISABELLA.

       My power! alas, I doubt,—

       LUCIO.

       Our doubts are traitors,

       And make us lose the good we oft might win

       By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo,

       And let him learn to know, when maidens sue,

       Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel,

       All their petitions are as freely theirs

       As they themselves would owe them.

       ISABELLA.

       I’ll see what I can do.

       LUCIO.

       But speedily.

       ISABELLA.

       I will about it straight;

       No longer staying but to give the Mother

       Notice of my affair. I humbly thank