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Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life :If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing

That none but fools would keep a breath thou art,
Servile to all the skyey influences,

That do this habitation, where thou keep'st,
Hourly afflict. Merely, thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun,
And yet run'st toward him still: thou art not noble;
For all th' accommodations that thou bear'st,
Are nurs'd by baseness: thou art by no means valiant;
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm: thy best of rest is sleep,
And that thou oft provok'st, yet grossly fear'st

Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself;
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains
That issue out of dust: happy thou art not;

For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get,

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And what thou hast forget'st. Thou art not certain;

For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
After the moon if thou art rich, thou 'rt poor;
For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloads thee: friend hast thou none;
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,
The mere effusion of thy proper loins,

Do curse the gout, serpigo1, and the rheum,

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Claud

But in what nature ? Isab. In such a one as, you consenting to it, Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, And leave you naked.

Claud. Let me know the point. Isab. O! I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, Lest thou a feverous life would'st entertain, And six or seven winters more respect, Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die ? The sense of death is most in apprehension, And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang, as great As when a giant dies.

Claud.

Why give you me this shame ? Think you I can a resolution fetch

From flowery tenderness? If I must die,

I will encounter darkness as a bride,

And hug it in mine arms.

Isab. There spake my brother: there my father's

grave

Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die: Thou art too noble to conserve a life

For ending thee no sooner: thou hast nor youth, nor age, In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy,

But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep,

Dreaming on both; for all thy boasted2 youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms

Of palsied eld: and when thou art old and rich,
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this,
That bears the name of life? Yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths, yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.

Claud.

I humbly thank you.
To sue to live, I find, I seek to die,
And, seeking death, find life: let it come on.
Isab. [Without.] What, ho! Peace here; grace and
good company!
[welcome.
Prov. Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a
Enter ISABELLA.

Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again.
Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you.

Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio. Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior; here's your sister.

Duke. Provost, a word with you.

Prov. As many as you please.

Why, as all

Duke. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may
be conceal'd. [Exeunt DUKE and Provost.
Claud. Now, sister, what's the comfort?
Isab.
Comforts are; most good, most good, indeed.
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven,
Intends you for his swift ambassador,
Where you shall be an everlasting lieger3:
Therefore, your best appointment make with speed;
To-morrow you set on.

Claud.
Is there no remedy?
Isab. None, but such remedy, as to save a head
To cleave a heart in twain.

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Whose settled visage and deliberate word
Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth enmew
As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil;
His filth within being cast, he would appear
A pond as deep as hell.

Claud.

The priestly* Angelo ?
Isab. O, 't is the cunning livery of hell,
The damned'st body to invest and cover
In priestly garb !5 Dost thou think, Claudio,
If I would yield him my virginity,
Thou might'st be freed.

Claud.
O, heavens! it cannot be.
Isab. Yes, he would give 't thee from this rank offence,
So to offend him still. This night's the time
That I should do what I abhor to name,
Or else thou diest to-morrow.
Claud.

Thou shalt not do 't.

Isab. O! were it but my life,
I'd throw it down for your deliverance
As frankly as a pin.

Claud.
Thanks, dear Isabel.
Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow.
Claud. Yes. Has he affections in him,
That thus can make him bite the law by the nose,
When he would force it? Sure, it is no sin;
Or of the deadly seven it is the least.
Isab. Which is the least?

Claud. If it were damnable, he being so wise,
Why would he for the momentary trick
Be perdurably fin'd?-O Isabel !

Isab. What says my brother?
Claud.

Death is a fearful thing
Isab. And shamed life a hateful.
Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ;
This sensible warm motion to become

A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit

To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside

In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,

And blown with restless violence round about

1 A kind of tetter. 2 blessed; in f. e. 3 Resident embassador. 4 f. e. princely; Knight: precise suggests de-lighted, that is, removed from light.

5 f. e. guards. 6 Knight

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O, faithless coward! O, dishonest wretch!
Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?

Is 't not a kind of incest to take life

From thine own sister's shame? What should I think?
Heaven shield, my mother play'd my father fair,
For such a warped slip of wilderness1

Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance :
Die; perish! might but my bending down
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed.
I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death,
No word to save thee.

Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel.
Isab.

O, fie, fie, fie!

Thy sin 's not accidental, but a trade.
Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd:
'Tis best that thou diest quickly.
Claud.

[Going. O hear me, Isabella!

Re-enter DUKE.
Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister; but one word.
Isab. What is your will?

Duke. Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have some speech with you: the satisfaction I would require, is likewise your own benefit.

Isab. I have no superfluous leisure: my stay must be stolen out of other affairs; but I will attend you a while.

Duke. [To CLAUDIO.] Son, I have overheard what hath passed between you and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath made an essay of her virtue, to practise his judgment with the disposition of natures. She, having the truth of honour in her, hath made him that gracious denial which he is most glad to receive: I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true; therefore, prepare yourself to death. Do not satisfy your resolution with hopes that are fallible; to-morrow you must die. Go; to your knees, and make ready.

Claud. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out
of love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it.
Duke. Hold you there: farewell. [Exit CLAUDIO.
Re-enter Provost.

Provost, a word with you.

Prov. What's your will, father ?

Isab. I am now going to resolve him. I had rather my brother die by the law, than my son should be unlawfully born. But O, how much is the good duke deceived in Angelo! If ever he return, and I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover his government.

Duke. That shall not be much amiss; yet, as the matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation: he made trial of you only.-Therefore, fasten your ear on my advisings: to the love I have in doing good a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe, that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a merited benefit, redeem your brother from the angry law, do no stain to your own gracious person, and much please the absent duke, if, peradventure, he shall ever return to have hearing of this business.

Isab. Let me hear you speak farther. I have spirit to do any thing that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit.

Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Have you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Frederick, the great soldier who miscarried at sea?

Isab. I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name.

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Duke. Her should this Angelo have married; he was affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: between which time of the contract, and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea, having in that perish'd vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark how heavily this befel to the poor gentlewoman: there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward her ever most kind and natural with him the portion and sinew of her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate3 husband, this well-seeming Angelo.

Isab. Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her?

Duke. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries of dishonour: in few, bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake, and he, as marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not.

Isab. What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid from the world! What corruption in this life, that it will let this man live !—But how out of this can she avail ?

Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily heal; and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in doing it.

Isab. Show me how, good father.

Duke. This fore-named maid hath yet in her the continuance of her first affection: his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should have quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in the current, made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo: answer his Duke. That now you are come, you will be gone. requiring with a plausible obedience: agree with his Leave me awhile with the maid my mind promises demands to the point; only refer yourself to this with my habit no loss shall touch her by my company. advantage,-first, that your stay with him may not be Prov. In good time. long, that the time may have all shadow and silence in it, and the place answer to convenience. This being granted in course, and now follows all: we shall advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your place; if the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel him to her recompense; and here by this is your brother saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame, and make fit for his attempt. If you think well to carry this, as

[Exit Provost. Duke. The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good; the goodness that is chief in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body of it ever fair. The assault, that Angelo hath made to you, fortune hath convey'd to my understanding; and, but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother?

1 Wildness, ungrafted. 2 cheap in f. e. 3 Contracted.

Duke. Still thus, and thus: still worse! Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she still? Ha!

Clo. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is herself in the tub.

you may, the doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What think you of it? Isab. The image of it gives me content already, and, I trust, it will grow to a most prosperous perfection. Duke. It lies much in your holding up. Haste you speedily to Angelo: if for this night he entreat you to Lucio. Why, 't is good; it is the right of it; it must his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will pre-be so ever your fresh whore, and your powder'd bawd: sently to St. Luke's; there, at the moated grange, an unshunn'd consequence; it must be so. Art going resides this dejected Mariana: at that place call upon to prison, Pompey? me, and despatch with Angelo, that it may be quickly. Ísab. I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The Street before the Prison.

Enter DUKE, as a Friar; to him ELBOW, Clown, and Officers.

Elb. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will needs buy and sell men and women like beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and white bastard.1

Duke. O, heavens! what stuff is here?

Clo. 'T was never merry world, since, of two usances," the merriest was put down, and the worser allow'd by order of law a furr'd gown to keep him warm; and furr'd with fox and lamb-skins too, to signify that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the facing.

Elb. Come your way, sir.-Bless you, good father friar.

Duke, And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made you, sir?

Elb. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law: and, sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir; for we have found upon him, sir, a strange pick-lock, which we have sent to the deputy.

Duke. Fie, sirrah: a bawd, a wicked bawd!
The evil that thou causest to be done,
That is thy means to live. Do thou but think
What 't is to cram a maw, or clothe a back,
From such a filthy vice: say to thyself,
From their abominable and beastly touches

I drink, I eat, array myself, and live.

Canst thou believe thy living is a life,

So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend.

Clo. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet, sir, I would prove

Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin, Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer: Correction and instruction must both work, Ere this rude beast will profit.

Clo. Yes, faith, sir.

Lucio. Why, 't is not amiss, Pompey. Farewell. Go; say, I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey, or how? Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd.

Lucio. Well, then imprison him. If imprisonment be the due of a bawd, why, 't is his right: bawd is he, doubtless, and of antiquity too; bawd-born. Farewell, good Pompey: commend me to the prison, Pompey. You will turn good husband now, Pompey; you will keep the house.

Clo. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail.

Lucio. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear. I will pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage: if you take it not patiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adieu, trusty Pompey.-Bless you, friar. Duke. And you.

Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey? Ha!
Elb. Come your ways, sir; come.
Clo. You will not bail me, then, sir?

Lucio. Then, Pompey, nor now.-What news abroad, friar? What news?

Elb. Come your ways, sir; come.
Lucio. Go; to kennel, Pompey, go.

[Exeunt ELBOW, Clown, and Officers. What news, friar, of the duke ?

Duke. I know none. Can you tell me of any? Lucio. Some say, he is with the emperor of Russia; other some, he is in Rome: but where is he, think you? Duke. I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish him well.

Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him, to steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his absence: he puts transgression to 't.

Duke. He does well in 't.

Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him something too crabbed that way, friar. Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it.

Elb. He must before the deputy, sir; he has given Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kinhim warning. The deputy cannot abide a whoremas-dred: it is well allied; but it is impossible to extirp it ter if he be a whoremonger, and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand.

Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be, From our faults, as faults from seeming, free! Enter LUCIO.

Elb. His neck will come to your waist, a cord, sir. Clo. I spy comfort: I cry, bail. Here's a gentleman, and a friend of mine.

Lucio. How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of Cæsar? Art thou led in triumph? What, is there none of Pygmalion's images, newly made woman, to be had now, for putting the hand in the pocket and extracting it clutch'd? What reply? Ha! What say'st thou to this tune, matter, and method? Is 't not drown'd i' the last rain? Ha! What say'st thou, troth? Is the world as it was, man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words, or how? The trick of it?

quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put down. They say, this Angelo was not made by man and woman, after the downright way of creation: is it true, think you?

Duke. How should he be made then?

Lucio. Some report, a sea-maid spawn'd him; some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes; but it is certain, that when he makes water, his urine is congeal'd ice that I know to be true; and he is a motion ingenerative, that's infallible.

Duke. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace.

Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the rebellion of a cod-piece to take away the life of a man? Would the duke that is absent have done this? Ere he would have hang'd a man for the getting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing a thousand. He had some feeling of the sport: he knew the service, and that instructed him to mercy.

1 Ital. bastardo, a sweet wine made of raisins. 2 usuries: in f. e. 3 trot in f. e. :

Duke. I never heard the absent duke much detected1 for women: he was not inclined that way. Lucio. O, sir! you are deceived.

Duke. 'Tis not possible.

Lucio. Who? not the duke? yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use was, to put a ducat in her clack-dish. The duke had crotchets in him: he would be drunk too; that let me inform you.

Duke. You do him wrong, surely.

Lucio. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the duke; and, I believe, I know the cause of his withdrawing.

Duke. What, I pr'ythee, might be the cause? Lucio. No, pardon;t is a secret must be lock'd within the teeth and the lips; but this I can let you understand,—the greater file of the subject' held the duke to be wise.

Duke. Wise? why, no question but he was. Lucio. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow.

Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mistaking: the very stream of his life, and the business he hath helmed, must, upon a warranted need, give him a better proclamation. Let him be but testimonied in his own bringings forth, and he shall appear to the envious a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. Therefore, you speak unskilfully; or, if your knowledge be more, it is much darken'd in your malice. Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love him. Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer love.

Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know. Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return, (as our prayers are he may,) let me desire you to make your answer before him: if it be honest you have spoke, you have courage to maintain it. I am bound to call upon you; and, I pray you, your name.

Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to the duke.

Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you.

Lucio. I fear you not.

Duke. O! you hope the duke will return no more, or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But, indeed, I can do you little harm; you'll forswear this again.

Lucio. I'll be hang'd first: thou art deceived in me, friar. But no more of this. Canst thou tell, if Claudio die to-morrow, or no?

Duke. Why should he die, sir?

Enter ESCALUS, Provost, Bawd, and Officers.
Escal. Go away with her to prison !
Bawd. Good my lord, be good to me; your honour
is accounted a merciful man: good my lord.

Escal. Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in the same kind? This would make mercy swear, and play the tyrant.

Prov. A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may it please your honour.

Bawd. My lord, this is one Lucio's information against me. Mistress Kate Keep-down was with child by him in the duke's time: he promised her marriage; his child is a year and a quarter old, come Philip and Jacob. I have kept it myself, and see how he goes about to abuse me!

Escal. That fellow is a fellow of much licence :-let him be called before us.-Away with her to prison! Go to; no more words. [Exeunt Bawd and Officers.] Provost, my brother Angelo will not be alter'd; Claudio must die to-morrow. Let him be furnished with divines, and have all charitable preparation: if my brother wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him.

Prov. So please you, this friar hath been with him,
and advised him for the entertainment of death.
Escal. Good even, good father.
Duke. Bliss and goodness on you.
Escal. Of whence are you?

Duke. Not of this country, though my chance is now
To use it for my time: I am a brother
Of gracious order, late come from the See,
In special business from his holiness.

Escal. What news abroad i' the world?
Duke. None, but that there is so great a fever on
goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it:
novelty is only in request; and as it is as dangerous
to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to
be constant in any undertaking, there is scarce truth
enough alive to make societies secure, but security
enough to make fellowships accurs'd.
this riddle runs the wisdom of the world.
is old enough, yet it is every day's news.
sir, of what disposition was the duke?
Escal. One that, above all other strifes, contended
especially to know himself.

Duke. What pleasure was he given to?

Much upon

This news I pray you,

Escal. Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than merry at any thing which profess'd to make him rejoice: a gentleman of all temperance. But leave we him to his events, with a prayer they may prove prosperous, and let me desire to know how you find Claudio prepared. I am made to understand, that you have lent him visitation.

Duke. He professes to have received no sinister measure from his judge, but most willingly humbles himself to the determination of justice; yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, many deceiving promises of life, which I, by my good leisure, have discredited to him, and now is he resolved

Lucio. Why? for filling a bottle with a tun-dish. I would, the duke, we talk of, were return'd again: this ungenitur'd agent will unpeople the province with continency; sparrows must not build in his house-eaves, because they are lecherous. The duke yet would have dark deeds darkly answer'd; he would never bring them to light: would he were return'd! Marry, this Claudio is condemn'd for untrussing. Farewell, good to die.

friar; I pr'ythee, pray for me. The duke, I say to Escal. You have paid the heavens the due of3 your thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He's now function, and the prisoner the very debt of your callpast it; yet, and I say to thee, he would mouth with ing. I have labour'd for the poor gentleman to the a beggar, though she smelt brown bread and garlic: extremest shore of my modesty; but my brother jussay, that I said so. Farewell. tice have I found so severe, that he hath forced me to tell him, he is indeed-justice.

Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality
Can censure 'scape: back-wounding calumny
The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong,
Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue?
But who comes here?

[Exit.

Duke. If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it shall become him well; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself. [well.

Escal. I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you

1 Suspected. 2 Number of the subjects. 3 The words "the due of": not in f. e.

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SCENE I-A Room at the moated Grange.
MARIANA discovered sitting: a Boy singing.

SONG.

Take, O! take those lips away,

That so sweetly were forsworn;
And those eyes, the break of day,

Lights that do mislead the morn :
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.

Isab. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon 't:
With whispering and most guilty diligence,
In action all of precept, he did show me
The way twice o'er.

Duke.
Are there no other tokens
Between you 'greed, concerning her observance?
Isab. No, none, but only a repair i' the dark;
And that I have possess'd him my most stay
Can be but brief: for I have made him know,
I have a servant comes with me along,

Mari. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick That stays upon me; whose persuasion is,

away:

Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice
Hath often still'd my brawling discontent.-

Enter DUKE.

cry you mercy, sir; and well could wish You had not found me here so musical: Let me excuse me, and believe me so,

I come about my brother.
Duke.

'Tis well borne up.

I have not yet made known to Mariana [Exit Boy. A word of this.-What, ho! within! come forth. Re-enter MARIANA.

My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe. Duke. 'Tis good: though music oft hath such a charm,

To make bad good, and good provoke to harm.

I pray you, tell me, hath any body inquired for me here to-day? much upon this time have I promis'd here to meet.

Mari. You have not been inquired after: I have sat here all day.

Enter ISABELLA.

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Isab. He hath a garden circummur'd with brick,
Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd;
And to that vineyard is a planched* gate,
That makes his opening with this bigger key:
This other doth command a little door,
Which from the vineyard to the garden leads;
There have I made my promise upon the heavy
Middle of the night to call upon him.

I pray you, be acquainted with this maid:
She comes to do you good.

Isab.
I do desire the like.
Duke. Do you persuade yourself that I respect you?
Mari. Good friar, I know you do, and have found it.
Duke. Take then this your companion by the hand,
Who hath a story ready for your ear.

I shall attend your leisure: but make haste;
The vaporous night approaches.
Mari.

Will't please you walk aside?
[Exeunt MARIANA and ISABELLA.
Duke. O place and greatness! millions of false eyes
Are stuck upon thee. Volumes of report
Run with base, false and most contrarious quests
Upon thy doings: thousand escapes of wit
Make thee the father of their idle dreams,
And rack thee in their fancies!

Re-enter MARIANA and ISABELLA,

Welcome! How agreed!
Isab. She'll take the enterprise upon her, father,
If you advise it.

Duke.

It is not my consent,

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Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all.

Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find this He is your husband on a pre-contract: way?

1 and virtue go: in f. e. 2 Making in f. e. a second stanza, as follows. It is attributed to

To bring you thus together, 't is no sin,

3 This song is found in Beaumont and Fletcher's Bloody Brother, Act V., Sc. II., with Shakespeare in the spurious Ed. of his Poems, printed in 1640.

Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow,

Which thy frozen bosom bears,

On whose tops the pinks that grow
Are of those that April wears;
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in icy chains by thee.

4 Boarded. 5 Knight, following the old eds., transfers this word to the beginning of the next line. 6 these in f. e.

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