Elb. Come your ways, sir; come.
Lucio. Go to kennel, Pompey; go. [[Exeunt Elbow,] 80 [Pompey 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 85 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.
90 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.
95 Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of kindred; it is well allied: 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 [this] downright way of creation: is it true, think you?