ISABELLA. It is not truer he is Angelo Than this is all as true as it is strange. Nay, it is ten times true, for truth is truth To th’ end of reckoning. DUKE. Away with her. Poor soul, She speaks this in th’ infirmity of sense. ISABELLA. O Prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ’st There is another comfort than this world, That thou neglect me not with that opinion That I am touched with madness. Make not impossible That which but seems unlike. ’Tis not impossible But one, the wicked’st caitiff on the ground, May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute, As Angelo; even so may Angelo, In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms, Be an arch-villain. Believe it, royal Prince, If he be less, he’s nothing; but he’s more, Had I more name for badness. DUKE. By mine honesty, If she be mad, as I believe no other, Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense, Such a dependency of thing on thing, As e’er I heard in madness. ISABELLA. O gracious Duke, Harp not on that; nor do not banish reason For inequality; but let your reason serve To make the truth appear where it seems hid, And hide the false seems true. DUKE. Many that are not mad Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would you say? ISABELLA. I am the sister of one Claudio, Condemned upon the act of fornication To lose his head; condemned by Angelo. I, in probation of a sisterhood, Was sent to by my brother; one Lucio As then the messenger. LUCIO. That’s I, an’t like your Grace. I came to her from Claudio and desired her To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo For her poor brother’s pardon. ISABELLA. That’s he, indeed. DUKE. You were not bid to speak. LUCIO. No, my good lord, Nor wished to hold my peace. DUKE. I wish you now, then; Pray you take note of it; and when you have A business for yourself, pray heaven you then Be perfect. LUCIO. I warrant your honour. DUKE. The warrant’s for yourself. Take heed to it. ISABELLA. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. LUCIO. Right. DUKE. It may be right, but you are i’ the wrong To speak before your time.—Proceed. ISABELLA. I went To this pernicious caitiff deputy. DUKE. That’s somewhat madly spoken. ISABELLA. Pardon it; The phrase is to the matter. DUKE. Mended again. The matter; proceed. ISABELLA. In brief, to set the needless process by: How I persuaded, how I prayed and kneeled, How he refelled me, and how I replied— For this was of much length—the vile conclusion I now begin with grief and shame to utter. He would not, but by gift of my chaste body To his concupiscible intemperate lust, Release my brother; and after much debatement, My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour, And I did yield to him. But the next morn betimes, His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant For my poor brother’s head. DUKE. This is most likely! ISABELLA. O, that it were as like as it is true!