Pro. I am the Prouost: whats your will, good Frier? Duke. Bound by my charity, and my blest order, I come to visite the afflicted spirits Here in the prison: doe 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 Pro. I would do more then that, if more were needfull Enter Iuliet. Looke here comes one: a Gentlewoman of mine, Who falling in the flawes of her owne youth, Hath blisterd her report: She is with childe, And he that got it, sentenc'd: a yong man, More fit to doe another such offence, Then dye for this Duk. When must he dye? Pro. As I do thinke to morrow. I haue prouided for you, stay a while And you shall be conducted Duk. Repent you (faire one) of the sin you carry? Iul. I doe; and beare the shame most patiently Du. Ile teach you how you shal araign your conscie[n]ce And try your penitence, if it be sound, Or hollowly put on Iul. Ile gladly learne Duk. Loue you the man that wrong'd you? Iul. Yes, as I loue the woman that wrong'd him Duk. So then it seemes your most offence full act Was mutually committed Iul. Mutually Duk. Then was your sin of heauier kinde then his Iul. I doe confesse it, and repent it (Father.) Duk. 'Tis meet so (daughter) but least you do repent As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, Which sorrow is alwaies toward our selues, not heauen, Showing we would not spare heauen, as we loue it, But as we stand in feare Iul. I doe repent me, as it is an euill, And take the shame with ioy Duke. There rest: Your partner (as I heare) must die to morrow, And I am going with instruction to him: Grace goe with you, Benedicite. Enter. Iul. Must die to morrow? oh iniurious Loue That respits me a life, whose very comfort Is still a dying horror Pro. 'Tis pitty of him. Exeunt. Scena Quarta. Enter Angelo. An. When I would pray, & think, I thinke, and pray To seuerall subiects: heauen hath my empty words, Whilst my Inuention, hearing not my Tongue, Anchors on Isabell: heauen in my mouth, As if I did but onely chew his name, And in my heart the strong and swelling euill Of my conception: the state whereon I studied Is like a good thing, being often read Growne feard, and tedious: yea, my Grauitie Wherein (let no man heare me) I take pride, Could I, with boote, change for an idle plume Which the ayre beats for vaine: oh place, oh forme, How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit Wrench awe from fooles, and tye the wiser soules To thy false seeming? Blood, thou art blood, Let's write good Angell on the Deuills horne 'Tis not the Deuills Crest: how now? who's there? Enter Seruant. Ser. One Isabell, a Sister, desires accesse to you