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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. Fy, firrah, a bawd, a wicked bawd!
The evil that thou causeft to be done,
That is thy means to live. Doft thou but think,
What 'tis to cram a maw, or cloath a back
From such a filthy vice: say to thyself,
From their abominable and beastly touches
I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. (17)
Canft thou believe thy living is a life,
So stinkingly depending ! go mend, mend.

Clown. Indeed, it doth stink in some fort, Sir; but yet, Sir, I would prove

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

Elb. He must before the Deputy, Sir; he has given him warning; the Deputy cannot abide a whores master ; if he be a whore-monger, and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand.

(17) I drink, I eat away myself, and live.] Thus hitherto in all the impressions. This is one very excellent instance of the fagacity of our Editors, and it were to be with'd heartily, they would have oblig'd us with their physical solution, how a man can eat away him. felf and live. The ingenious Mr. Bishop, when we read this Play together, gave me that most certain emendation, which I have subm ftituted in the room of the former foolish reading; by the help whereof we have this easy sense; that the Clown fed himself, and put cloaths on his back by exercising the vile trade of a Bawd.

In Othello, lago speaks much to the fame purpose of Caffio's. Atrumpet.

A housewife, that, by selling her defires,

Buys herself bread, and cloath. And Ben Johnson, much nearer to the words of the passage here corrected, in his Epigram upon Lieut. Shift. By that one spell hc lives, eats, drinks, arrays kimself.

Duke.

Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be, Free from all faults, as faults from seeming free!

Enter Lucio. Elb. His neck will come to your taste, a cord, Sir.

Clown. 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 Cæfar ? art thou led in triumph! what, is there none of Pigmalion'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 fay'st thou to this tune, matter and method is't not drown'd i'ch' laft rain? ha? what fay'st thou, trot? is the world as it was, man? which is the way? is it sad and few words? or how? the trick of it?

Duke. Still thus and thus ; ftill worse?

Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistess ? procures the still ? ha?

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

Lucio. Why, 'tis good ; it is the right of it; it must be fo. Ever your fresh whore, and your powder'd bawd; an unfhunn'd consequence, it must be lo. Art going to prison, Pompey?

Clown. Yes, faith, Sir.

Lucio. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey: farewel : 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, 'tis his right. Bawd is he, doubtless, and of antiquity too; bawd born. Farewel, good Pompey : commend me to the prison, Pompey; you will turn good husband now, Pompey: you will keep the house.

Clown. 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.

Duke. And you.
Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey? ha?
Elb. Come your ways, Sir, come.
Clorun. 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 Oficers.
What news, Friar, of the Duke?
Duke. I know none : can you

tell me of any Lucio. Some say, he's with the Emperor of Rusia; other fome, he is in Rome ; but where is he, think

you?

cure it.

Duke. I know not where ; but wherefoever, I wish him well.

Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was neve born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his absence ; he puts trangression to’t.

Duke. He does well in't.

Lucio. A little more lenity to leachery would do no harm in him; something too crabbed that way, Friar.

Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must

Lucio. Yes, in good footh, the vice is of a great kindred ; it is well ally'd; but it is impossible to extirp 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 con-. geal'd ice ; that I know to be true: (18) and he is a motion ungenerative, that's infallible.

Duke. (18) and be is a motion generative; that's infallible.] This may be sense; and Lucio, perhaps, may mean, that tho' Angelo have the organs of generation, yet that he makes no more use of them.

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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.

Dücke. I never heard the absent Duke much detected for women ; he was not inclin’d that way.

Lucia. Oh, Sir, you are deceiv’d. Duke. "Tis not possible. Lucio. Who, not the Duke ? yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use was, to put a ducket in her clackdith; the duke had crotchets in him. He would be drunk too, that let me inform you.

Duke. You do him wrong, furely,

Lucio. Sir, I was an inward of his: a Ny fellow was the Duke ; and, I believe, I know the cause of his withdrawing, surely.

Duke. What; prythee, might be the cause?

Lucio. No: pardon : 'tis a secret must be lockt within the teeth and the lips; but this I can let you underftand, the greater file of the subject held the Duke te be wise.

Duke. Wise? why, no question, but he was. Lucio. A very fuperficial, 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, muft upon a warranted need give him a better proclamation. Let him be but teftimonied in his own bringings forth, and he shall appear to the envious, a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. Therefore, you speak unkilfully; or if your knowledge be more, it is much darken'd in your malice. than if he were an inanimate puppet. But I rather think, our Author wrote;

and he is a motion ungenerative, - because Lucio again in this very Scene says; - ibis ungenitur'd agent will unpeople the province with continency.

Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love him.

Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dear 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 deceiv'd in me, Friar. But no more of this. Canft thou tell, if Claudio die to-morrow, or no?

Duke. Why fhould he die, Sir?

Lucio. Why? for filling a bottle with a tun-dish! I would, the Duke, we talk of, were return'd again; this ungenitar'd agent will unpeople the province with continency. Sparrows must not build in his house-eves, because they are leacherous. 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 condemned for untrufling: Farewel, good Friar; I pry'thee, pray for me: (19) the Duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He's now paft it; yet, and I say to thee, he would mouth with

(19) The Duke, I say to the again, would eat mutton on Fridays.] This is not meant to impeach the Duke of being an ill Catholic, as transgressing the rules of abftinence in diet: But the joke, alluded to, will be explain'd by looking back to the third note on the Two Gene slemen of Verona.

a beggar,

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