Page 1128 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

JULIET

Must die to-morrow! O injurious love, [40]
That respites me a life, whose very comfort
Is still a dying horror!

PROVOST
’Tis pity of him.

Exeunt.

Scene IV IT

[The Ante-room.]

Enter Angel.

ANGELO
When I would pray and think, I think and pray

To several subjects: Heaven hath my empty words,
Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue,
Anchors on Isabel: Heaven in my mouth,
As if I did but only chew his name, [5]

And in my heart the strong and swelling evil
Of my conception. The state whereon I studied
Is, like a good thing being often read,
Grown sere and tedious; yea, my gravity,

Wherein − let no man hear me − I take pride, [10]
Could I with boot change for an idle plume
Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form,
How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit,

Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls
To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood. [15]
Let’s write good angel on the devil’s horn −
’Tis not the devil’s crest.

[Knock.]
How now! Who’s there?

Enter Servant.