Duke. There rest. Your partner, as I hear, muft die to-morrow, So, grace go with you! benedicite. [Exit. Juliet. Muft die to-morrow! 5 oh, injurious love, That refpites me a life, whofe very comfort Is ftill a dying horror! Prov. 'Tis pity of him. [Exeunt. X. 6 Changes to the Palace. Enter Angelo. HEN I would pray and think, I think and pray Ang. W To fev'ral fubjects: heav'n hath my empty words, And in my heart the strong and fwelling evil 7 Grown fear'd and tedious; yea, my gravity, 5 oh, injurious love,] Her execution was refpited on account of her pregnancy, the effects of her love: therefore fhe calls it injurious; not that it brought her to fhame, but that it hindered her freeing herself from it. Is not this all very natural? yet the Oxford Editor changes it to injurious law. 6 Whilft my intention, ] Nothing can be either plainer or exacter than this expreflion. But the old blundering Folio having it, invention, this was enough for Mr. Theobald to prefer authority to fenfe. 7 Grown FEAR'D and tedious;] We fhould read SEAR'D: i. e. old. So Shakespear uses, in the fear, to fignify old age. How How often doft thou with thy cafe, thy habit, Enter Servant. How now, who's there? Serv. One Ifabel, a fifter, defires access to you. And difpoffeffing all my other parts Of neceffary fitnefs? So play the foolish throngs with one that fwoons; 8 Let's write good angel on the devil's horn ; 'Tis not the devil's creft.] i. e. Let the most wicked thing have but a virtuous pretence, and it fhall pafs for innocent. This was his conclufion from his preceeding words, -ob form! How often doft thou with thy cafe, thy habit, Wrench are from fools, and tie the wifer fouls To thy falfe feeming? But the Oxford Editor makes him conclude juft counter to his own premises; by altering it to, Is't not the devil's creft. So that, according to this alteration, the reafoning ftands thus.-Falfe feeming wrenches awe from fools, and deceives the wife. Therefore, Let us but write good angel on the devil's born; (i. e. give him the appearance of an angel;) and what then? Is't not the devil's creft? (i. e. he shall be esteem'd a devil.) Ifab. I am come to know your pleasure. Than to demand, what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. Ang. Yea. Ifab. When, I befeech you? that in his reprieve, Longer or fhorter, he may be fo fitted, That his foul ficken not. Ang. Ha? fie, these filthy vices! 'twere as good Their fawcy fweetnefs, that do coin heav'n's image As to put metal in restrained means, To make a falfe one. Ifab. 'Tis fet down fo in heav'n, but not in earth. Ang. And fay you fo? then I fhall poze you quickly. Which had you rather, that the most just law 9 'tis all as eafie, Eafie is here put for light or trifling. Tis, fays he, as light or trifling a crime to do fo, as fo, &c. Which the Oxford Editor not apprehending, has alter'd it to juft; for 'is much easier to conceive what Shakespear fhould fay, than what he does fay. So just before, the poet faid, with his ufual licence, their fawcy fweetness, for fawey indulgence of the appetite. And this, forfooth, must be changed to fawcy lewdness, tho' the epithet confines us, as it were, to the poet's word. Give up your body to fuch fweet uncleanness, Ifab. Sir, believe this, I had rather give my body than my foul. Ang. I talk not of your foul; our compell'd fins Stand more for number than accompt. Ifab. How fay you? Ang. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak Against the thing I fay. Answer to this; I, now the voice of the recorded law, Ifab. Please you to do't, I'll take it as a peril to my foul, Ang. Pleas'd you to do't at peril of your foul, Were equal poize of fin and charity. Ifab. That I do beg his life, if it be fin, Ang. Nay, but hear me : Your fenfe purfues not mine: either, you're ignorant; Or feem fo, craftily; and that's not good. Ifab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, But graciously to know I am no better. Ang. Thus wifdom wishes to appear most bright, When it doth tax itself: as these black masks, Proclaim an en-fhield beauty ten times louder, Than beauty could difplay'd. But mark me, To be received plain, I'll speak more grofs; Your brother is to die. Ifab. So. Ang. And his offence is fo, as it appears Accountant to the law upon that pain. Ifab. True. ། Ang. Admit no other way to fave his life. Whofe credit with the judge, or own great place, Ifab. As much for my poor brother, as myfelf: That longing I've been fick for, ere I'd yield Ang. Then muft your brother die.. Ifab. And 'twere the cheaper way; Better it were, a brother dy'd at once ;) Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the fentence, Ifab. As ignominious ranfom, and free pardon, Are of two houfes; lawful mercy, fure, Is nothing kin to foul redemption. Ang. You feem'd of late to make the law a tyrant, And rather prov'd the fliding of your brother. A merriment, than a vice. Ifab. Oh pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out, To have what we would have, we fpeak not what we • mean: I fomething do excufe the thing I hate, |