A C T III.

SCENE, the Prison.

Enter Duke, Claudio, and Provost.
DUKI.

O, then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo? Claud. The miferable have no other medicine, But only hope I've hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. Duke. Be abfolute for death: or death, or life,

Shall thereby be the fweeter. Reafon thus with life; (14),
If I do lofe thee, I do lofe a thing,

That none but fools would reck; a breath thou art,
Servile to all the fkiey influences;

That doft this habitation, where thou keep'ft,
Hourly afflict; merely thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'ft by thy flight to fhun,

And yet runn'ft tow'rd him till. Thou art not noble ;
For all th' accommodations, that thou bear'ft,

Are nurs'd by bafeness: thou'rt by no means valiant; For thou doft fear the foft and tender fork

(14)

Reafon thus with life;

If I do lofe thee, Ido lafe a thing

That none but fools would keep.] But this reading is not only contrary to all fense and reason; but to the drift of this moral Dif courfe. The Duke, in his affum'd character of a Friar, is endea vouring to instill into the condemn'd prisoner a refignation of mind to his fentence; but the fenfe of the lines, in this reading, is direct perfuafive to fuicide! I make no doubt, but the Poet wrote, That none but ferois would reck.

i. e. care for, be anxious about, regret the lofs of.

Mr. Warburton. And the word is very frequent with our Author. Tri Gent, of Verona į. Recking as little what betide h me,

As much I wish all good befortune you.

And Hamiet:

Himfeif the primrose path of dalliance treads,
And recks not his own reed.

Et alibi paffim.

of

Of a poor worm. Thy beft of reft is fleep,
And that thou oft provok'ft; yet grofly fear'st
nd tha
Thy death, which is no more. Thou'rt not thyfelf
For thou exift'ft on many a thousand grains,
That iffue out of duft. Happy, thou art not;
For what thou haft not,. ftill thou ftriv't to get;
And what thou haft, forgett'ft. Thou art not certain ;;
For thy complexion fhifts to ftrange effects,
After the moon. If thon art rich, thou'rt poor;
For, like an afs, whofe back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'ft thy heavy riches but a journey,

And death unloadeth thee. Friend thou haft none;
For thy own bowels, which.do call thee fire,
The mere effufion of thy proper loins,

Do curfe the Gout, Serpigo, and the Rheum,

For ending thee no fooner. Thou hast nor youth, norr age; (15)

But as it were an after-dinner's fleep,.

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

(15) Thou baft nor youth, nor age; &c.] Mr. Warburton has given me a correction of, and paraphrafe on, this and the fubfequent lines; which fhews fo fine a spirit, that, tho' I have not ven tur'd to disturb the text, I must not deprive my Readers of it. "The drift of this period, you fee, is to prove, that neither youth,. nor age, is really enjoyed: which, in poetical language is, We have neither youth, nor age." But how is this prov'd? That age is not enjoy'd," he makes appear by recapitulating the infir"mities of it, which deprive old age of the fenfe of pleasure.

To prove youth is not enjoy'd, he uses thefe words; for all thy blefied youth becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms of palfied Elder "Out of which, he that can deduce the proof, erit mihi magnuss Apollo." Undoubtedly, if we would know how. the Author wrote, we must read,

for, pall'd thy blazed youth.

Becomes affuaged; and doth beg the alms

Of palfied Eld..

"i e. When thy youthful appetite becomes pallid, as it will be, im. the enjoyment; the blaze of youth becomes afluaged, and thou "immediately contract st the infirmities of age; as, particularly, "the paliv, and other nervous-infirmities; the confequence, of the : enjoyment of fenfual pleasure. This is to the purpose; and proves *. youth is not enjoy'd, by fhewing the fleeting duration of it.”

25

Of palfy'd Eld; and when thou'rt old and rich,
Thou haft neither heat, affection,, limb,. nor beauty
To make thy riches pleafant. 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 thefe odds all even.

Claud. I humbly thank you.

To fue to live, I find, I feek to die;

And, feeking death, find-life: let it come on.
Enter Ifabella.

Tab. What,ho? peace here: grace and good company? Prov. Who's there? come in the wifh deferves a welcome.

Duke. Dear Sir, ere long I'll vifit you again.

Claud. Moft holy Sir, I thank you.

Ifab. My bufinefs is a word, or two, with Claudio. Prov. And very welcome. Look, Signior, here's your fifter.

Duke. Provost, a word with you.

Prov. As many as you please.

Duke. Bring them to fpeak where I may be conceal'd, Yet hear them,

[Exeunt Duke and Provost.

Claud. Now, fifter, what's the comfort ?

Ifab. Why, as all comforts are; moft good in deed :: Lord Angelo, having affairs to heav'n,

Intends you for his fwift ambassador;

Where you fhall be an everlafting leiger.

Therefore your best appointment make with speed,
To-morrow you fet on,

Claud. Is there no remedy?

Ifab. None, but fuch remedy, as to fave a head,. To cleave a heart in twain.

Claud. But is there any?

jab. Yes, brother, you may live:

There is a devilish mercy in the judge,

If you'll implore it, that will free your life,

But fetter you 'till death.

Claud. Perpetual durance?

Ifab. Ay, juft; perpetual durance; a. reftraint,

24

Tho

Tho' all the world's vastidity you had,
To a determin'd fcope.

Claud. But in what nature ?

Ifab. In fuch a one, as you, consenting to't, Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, And leave you naked.

Claud. Let me know the point.

Ifab. Oh, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake,
Left thou a fev'rous life fhould'ft entertain,
And fix or seven winters more refpect

Than a perpetual honour. Dart thou die?
The fenfe of death is moft in apprehenfion;
And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,
In corp'ral fufferance finds a pang as great,
As when a giant dies.

Claud. Why give you me this fhame?
Think you, I can a refolution fetch
From flow'ry tenderness? if I must die,
I will encounter darkness as a bride,

And hug it in mine arms.

Ifab. There fpake my brother; there my father's grave
Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die:
Thou art too noble to conferve a life

In bafe appliances. This outward-fainted Deputy,
Whofe fettled vifage and delib'rate word

Nips youth i' th' head; and follies doth emmew
As faulcon doth the fowl; is yet a devil:
His filth within being caft: he would appear
A pond as deep as hell.

Claud. The princely Angelo?

Ifab. Oh, 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
The damned'ft body to inveft and cover

In Princely guards. Doft thou think, Claudio,
If I would yield him my virginity,

Thou might't be freed?

Claud. Oh, heavens! it cannot be

Ifab. Yes, he would give't thee; from this rank ofence So to offend him ftill. This night's the time

That I fhould do what I abhor to name,

Or elfe thou dy't-to-morrow."

Claud

Claud. Thou shalt not do't.

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

Claud. Thanks, dearest Ifabel.

Ifab. Be ready, Claudia, for your death to-morrow..
Claud. Yes. Has he affections in him,

That thus can make him bite the law by th' nose,
When he would force it? fure, it is no fin;

Or of the deadly feven it is the least.

Ifab. Which is, the least ?

Claud. If it were damnable, he being fo wife,
Why would he for the momentary trick
Be perdurably fin'd? oh Ifabel!

Ifab. What fays my brother?
Claud. Death's a fearful thing.

Ijab. And fhamed life a hateful.

Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where: To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;

This fenfible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted fpirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to refide
In thrilling regions of thick-ribb'd ice,
To be imprifon'd in the viewlefs winds,.
And blown with retlefs violence round about
The pendant world; or to be worse than worst
Of thofe, that lawlefs and incertain thoughts
Imagine howling;tis too horrible!

The wearieft and moft loathed worldly life, (16)
That age, ach, penuzy, imprisonment

(16) The wearieft, and most latbed worldly life. This natural fear, of Claudib, from the antipathy we have to death, feems very little varied from that infamous with of Mecenas recorded in the 1018. Epistle of Seneca..

Debil.m fcito manu,

Debilem pide, coxa;

Tuber adftrue gibberum,

Lubkices quate denies :

ta, dum fupereft, bene eftating 03

Hane mihi, vet. acura