ANGELO.
O my dread lord,
I should be guiltier than my guiltiness
To think I can be undiscernible,
When I perceive your Grace, like power divine,
Hath looked upon my passes. Then, good Prince,
No longer session hold upon my shame,
But let my trial be mine own confession.
Immediate sentence then, and sequent death
Is all the grace I beg.
DUKE.
Come hither, Mariana.
Say, wast thou e’er contracted to this woman?
ANGELO.
I was, my lord.
DUKE.
Go, take her hence and marry her instantly.
Do you the office, friar; which consummate,
Return him here again.—Go with him, Provost.
[Exeunt Angelo, Mariana, Friar Peter and Provost.]
ESCALUS.
My lord, I am more amazed at his dishonour
Than at the strangeness of it.
DUKE.
Come hither, Isabel.
Your friar is now your prince. As I was then
Advertising and holy to your business,
Not changing heart with habit, I am still
Attorneyed at your service.
ISABELLA.
O, give me pardon,
That I, your vassal, have employed and pained
Your unknown sovereignty.
DUKE.
You are pardoned, Isabel.
And now, dear maid, be you as free to us.
Your brother’s death, I know, sits at your heart,
And you may marvel why I obscured myself,
Labouring to save his life, and would not rather
Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power
Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid,
It was the swift celerity of his death,
Which I did think with slower foot came on,
That brained my purpose. But peace be with him.
That life is better life, past fearing death,
Than that which lives to fear. Make it your comfort,
So happy is your brother.
ISABELLA.
I do, my lord.