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, Condemn'd upon the act of fornication To lose his head; condemn'd 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 desir'd 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 wish'd 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't. 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 pray'd, and kneel'd, How he refell'd 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! DUKE. By heaven, fond wretch, thou know'st not what thou speak'st, Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour In hateful practice. First, his integrity Stands without blemish; next, it imports no reason That with such vehemency he should pursue Faults proper to himself. If he had so offended, He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself, And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on; Confess the truth, and say by whose advice Thou cam'st here to complain. ISABELLA. And is this all? Then, O you blessed ministers above, Keep me in patience; and, with ripened time, Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up In countenance! Heaven shield your Grace from woe,