That, lying [by] the violet in the sun,
Do as the carrion does, not as the flower,
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be
That modesty may more betray our sense
170 Than woman’s lightness? Having waste ground enough,
Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary,
And pitch our [evils] there? O, fie, fie, fie!
What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo?
Dost thou desire her foully for those things
II. 2.
175 That make her good? O, let her brother live: