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This day my sister should the cloister enter,

And there receive her approbation;

Acquaint her with the danger of my state;

Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends

To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him.

I have great hope in that; for in her youth

There is a prone and speechless dialect

Such as move men; beside, she hath prosperous art

When she will play with reason and discourse,

And well she can persuade.

LUCIO.

I pray she may; as well for the encouragement of the like,

which else would stand under grievous imposition, as for the

enjoying of thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus

foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack. I'll to her.

CLAUDIO.

I thank you, good friend Lucio.

LUCIO.

Within two hours.

CLAUDIO.

Come, officer, away. Exeunt

SCENE III. A monastery

Enter DUKE and FRIAR THOMAS

DUKE.

No, holy father; throw away that thought;

Believe not that the dribbling dart of love

Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee

To give me secret harbour hath a purpose

More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends

Of burning youth.

FRIAR.

May your Grace speak of it?

DUKE.

My holy sir, none better knows than you

How I have ever lov'd the life removed,

And held in idle price to haunt assemblies

Where youth, and cost, a witless bravery keeps.

I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo,

A man of stricture and firm abstinence,

My absolute power and place here in Vienna,

And he supposes me travell'd to Poland;

For so I have strew'd it in the common ear,

And so it is received. Now, pious sir,

You will demand of me why I do this.

FRIAR.

Gladly, my lord.

DUKE.

We have strict statutes and most biting laws,

The needful bits and curbs to headstrong steeds,

Which for this fourteen years we have let slip;

Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave,

That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers,

Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch,

Only to stick it in their children's sight

For terror, not to use, in time the rod

Becomes more mock'd than fear'd; so our decrees,

Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead;

And liberty plucks justice by the nose;

The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart

Goes all decorum.

FRIAR.

It rested in your Grace

To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleas'd;

And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd

Than in Lord Angelo.

DUKE.

I do fear, too dreadful.

Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope,

'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them

For what I bid them do; for we bid this be done,

When evil deeds have their permissive pass

And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my father,

I have on Angelo impos'd the office;

Who may, in th' ambush of my name, strike home,

And yet my nature never in the fight

To do in slander. And to behold his sway,

I will, as 'twere a brother of your order,

Visit both prince and people. Therefore, I prithee,

Supply me with the habit, and instruct me

How I may formally in person bear me

Like a true friar. Moe reasons for this action

At our more leisure shall I render you.

Only, this one: Lord Angelo is precise;

Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses

That his blood flows, or that his appetite

Is more to bread than stone. Hence shall we see,

If power change purpose, what our seemers be. Exeunt

SCENE IV. A nunnery

Enter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA

ISABELLA.

And have you nuns no farther 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