For that which, if myself might be his judge,
He should receive his punishment in thanks:
He hath got his
friend with child.
Sir, make me not your story.
It is true.
I would notthough 'tis my familiar sin
With maids to seem the lapwing and to jest,
from heartplay with all virgins so:
I hold you as a thing ensky'd and sainted.
By your renouncement an
And to be talk'd with in sincerity,
As with a saint.
You do blaspheme the good in mocking me.
Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus:
Your brother and his lover have embraced:
As those that
feed grow full, as blossoming time
That from the seedness the bare fallow brings
To teeming foison, even
so her plenteous womb
Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.
Some one with child by him? My cousin Juliet?
Is she your cousin?
Adoptedly; as school-maids change their names
By vain though apt affection.
She it is.
O, let him marry her.
This is the point.
The duke is very strangely gone from hence;
Bore many gentlemen, myself being one,
hand and hope of action: but we do learn
By those that know the very nerves of state,
were of an infinite distance
From his true-meant design. Upon his place,
And with full line of his authority,
Lord Angelo; a man whose blood
Is very snow-broth; one who never feels
The wanton stings and motions
of the sense,
But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge
With profits of the mind, study and fast.
fear to use and liberty,
Which have for long run by the hideous law,
As mice by lionshath pick'd out an
Under whose heavy sense your brother's life
Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it;
And follows close
the rigour of the statute,
To make him an example. All hope is gone,
Unless you have the grace by your
To soften Angelo: and that's my pith of business
'Twixt you and your poor brother.
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