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 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.
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.
LUCIO.
Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great 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?
DUKE.
How should he be made, then?
LUCIO.
Some report a sea-maid spawned him; some, that he was begot between two stockfishes. But it is certain that when he makes water, his urine is congealed ice; that I know to be true. And he is a motion ungenerative; that’s infallible.
DUKE.
You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace.