Читать книгу Measure for Measure (The Unabridged Play) + The Classic Biography: The Life of William Shakespeare - William Shakespeare - Страница 13

[Enter DUKE, habited like a Friar, and PROVOST.]

DUKE.

Hail to you, provost! so I think you are.

PROVOST.

I am the provost. What’s your will, good friar?

DUKE.

Bound by my charity and my bless’d order,

I come to visit the afflicted spirits

Here in the prison: do me the common right

To let me see them, and to make me know

The nature of their crimes, that I may minister

To them accordingly.

PROVOST.

I would do more than that, if more were needful.

[Enter JULIET.]

Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine,

Who, falling in the flaws of her own youth,

Hath blister’d her report. She is with child;

And he that got it, sentenc’d: a young man

More fit to do another such offence

Than die for this.

DUKE.

When must he die?

PROVOST.

As I do think, tomorrow.—

[To JULIET.] I have provided for you; stay awhile

And you shall be conducted.

DUKE.

Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry?

JULIET.

I do; and bear the shame most patiently.

DUKE.

I’ll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience,

And try your penitence, if it be sound

Or hollowly put on.

JULIET.

I’ll gladly learn.

DUKE.

Love you the man that wrong’d you?

JULIET.

Yes, as I love the woman that wrong’d him.

DUKE.

So then, it seems, your most offenceful act

Was mutually committed.

JULIET.

Mutually.

DUKE.

Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.

JULIET.

I do confess it, and repent it, father.

DUKE.

‘Tis meet so, daughter: but lest you do repent

As that the sin hath brought you to this shame,—

Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven,

Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it,

But as we stand in fear,—

JULIET.

I do repent me as it is an evil,

And take the shame with joy.

DUKE.

There rest.

Your partner, as I hear, must die tomorrow,

And I am going with instruction to him.—

Grace go with you!

DUKE.

Benedicite!

[Exit.]

JULIET.

Must die tomorrow! O, injurious law,

That respites me a life whose very comfort

Is still a dying horror!

PROVOST.

‘Tis pity of him.

[Exeunt.]