Measure for Measure

We mustn’t let the law turn into a scarecrow—something you set up to scare away birds of prey but then never change, until the birds get so used to it that they sit on it rather than fear it.

Yes, but we should also be precise. Better to use a scalpel than a hatchet, cutting carefully instead of chopping to death. This gentleman whose life I’d like to save had such a noble father. I know you’re a completely disciplined, virtuous man. But imagine you felt sexual stirrings for a woman, and you were in the right place at the right time, and by acting on that desire you could have her. If sometime in your life, you’d made the same mistake for which you now condemn him, you’d have brought the law down on yourself.

It’s one thing to be tempted, Escalus, but another thing to give in. I don’t deny that the twelve members of a jury might include a thief or two who are far guiltier than the prisoner they’re passing sentence on. But justice takes the opportunities it has; who knows what laws thieves pass against other thieves? Obviously, if we stumble across a jewel in the road, we’ll bend down and take it, because we see it. But things we don’t see, we step over and never think about. You can’t excuse his crime on the grounds that I could have done the same thing. Instead, if I—the man who’s condemning him—commit the same offense, let this verdict of mine act as a precedent for my death, and let no allowances be made for me. Sir, he must die.

As you command.

Where is the provost?

Here, sir.

See that Claudio is executed by nine tomorrow morning. Give him a priest to confess to, and let him prepare himself for death, for this is his journey’s end.

(to himself) Well, heaven forgive him—and forgive us all! Some people succeed by sinning, and some are brought down by virtue. Some people run from dubious situations and so never suffer punishment, and some people get punished for a single mistake.

Bring them this way. If these aren’t the kind of people who do nothing but dirty things in whorehouses, then I don’t know the law. Bring them this way.

Well, sir! What’s your name? And what’s the matter?

If it pleases your honor, I am the duke’s poor police officer, and my name is Elbow. I rely on the law, sir, and bring in here before you two notorious benefactors (confusing the word benefactor with malefactor).

Benefactors? What benefactors are they? Aren’t they malefactors?

If it pleases your honor, I don’t really know what they are. But they’re definitely scoundrels, that I’m sure of, and lacking the universal piety that all good Christians ought to have.

(to Angelo, sarcastically) He’s a good talker, and a real smart cop.

Out with it. What’s their rank? Your name’s Elbow? Why don’t you speak, Elbow?

He can’t, sir. He’s been pushed out of the way.

(to Pompey) What do you do, sir?

Him, sir! He’s a bartender, sir, and a part-time pimp, one who works for a madam. Her brothel in the suburbs, sir, was, as they say, torn down, and now she claims to run a bathhouse, and I think that’s a bad house too.

How do you know that?

My wife sir, whom I detest with heaven and your honor as my witnesses—

(confusing detest with attest)

What, you detest your wife?

Yes, sir, whom, I thank heaven, is a morally upright woman—

That’s why you detest her?

I say, sir, I’ll detest myself as well as her, if this house, if it’s not a whorehouse, it’s a great pity, for it’s an immoral place.

How do you know that?

From my wife, who, if she had been a woman given to sin, might have been accused of fornication, adultery, and all sorts of dirty things there.

Because of the actions of the madam of the whorehouse?

Yes, sir, by Mistress Overdone’s doing. But my wife spit in this man’s face, defying him.

Please, sir, this is not true.

Prove it before these rogues here, you honorable man. Prove it.

(to Angelo) Do you hear how he mixes up his words?

Sir, this very pregnant woman came in, longing—I beg your honor’s pardon—for stewed prunes. Sir, we had only two in the house, which at that very time were sitting, it so happened, in a fruit dish, a three-cent dish. Your honors have seen such dishes; they’re not fine china, but they’re very good dishes—

Get on with it. Never mind about the dish, sir.

No, sir, you’re right. It’s not worth a pin, but back to the point. As I was saying, this Mrs. Elbow, was, as I say, very pregnant, and longing, as I said, for prunes. We had only two left in the dish, as I said, and this very man, Mr. Froth here, having eaten the rest and paid for them very generously. Because as you know, Mr. Froth, I couldn’t give you three cents’ change.

No, indeed.

Very well. If you remember, you were talking about the previously mentioned prunes—

Right, I was.

Ok, and I was telling you, if you remember, that so-and-so couldn’t be cured of you-know-what, unless they kept to a strict diet—

All this is true.

Why, very well, then—

You’re a tedious fool. Get to the point. What was done to Elbow’s wife that gave him a reason to complain? Come and get to what was done to her.

Sir, your honor can’t get to that yet.

That’s not what I meant, sir.

But you will get it, sir, if your honor pleases. And, I beg you, look at Mr. Froth here, sir; a man who makes only 80 pounds a year and whose his father died, leaving him an inheritance, on All Saints’ Day—wasn’t it All Saints’ Day, Mr. Froth?

Halloween.

Very well. I hope we’ll get to the truth here. He, sir, was sitting, as I say, in a reclining chair, sir. It was at the Bunch of Grapes tavern, where you like to sit and relax, don’t you?

I do, because the room has a big open fire, good in winter.

Why, very well, then. I hope we’ll get to the truth here.

This could last as long as a night in Russia, during the time of year when nights are longest. I’m leaving. I’ll leave you to get to the bottom of this case, hoping you’ll find reasons to whip them all.

I think I will. Good-bye, your lordship.

Now, sir, come on: what happened to Elbow’s wife, once more?

Once, sir? Nothing happened to her once.

I beg you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife.

I beg your honor, ask me.

Well, sir; what did this gentleman do to her?

I beg you, sir, look at this gentleman’s face. Good Mr. Froth, look at his honor—it’s for a good reason. Does your honor see his face?

Yes, sir, very well.

No, I beg you, really study it.

Well, I am.

Does your honor see any harm in his face?

Why, no.

I’ll swear upon a bible, his face is the worst thing about him (confusing supposed for deposed). And if his face is the worst thing about him, how could Mr. Froth do the officer’s wife any harm? I’d like your honor to explain that.

He’s right. Officer, what do you say to that?

(confusing respected for suspected throughout) First, if it pleases you, the house is a respected house; next, this is a respected fellow, and his employer a respected woman.

I swear, sir, his wife is a more respected person than any of us.

Scoundrel, you lie. You lie, wicked scoundrel! The time has yet to come that she was ever respected by man, woman, or child.

Sir, he respected her before he married her.

Who’s smarter here? The representative of justice or the representative of sin? Is this true?

Oh, you wretch! Oh, you scoundrel! Oh, you cannibal! I respected her before I was married to her! If I ever respected her, or she respected me, I’m not the duke’s poor officer. Prove this, you wicked cannibal, or I’ll sue you for assault.

If he boxed your ears, you could sue him for slander, too.

Thank you, your worship. What would you like me to do with this wicked wretch?

Honestly, officer, because he’s committed some crime that you would expose if you were capable, let him keep on until you figure out what it is.

Thank you, your worship. Now, you wicked wretch, you see what’s going to happen to you: you’re to be kept on; they’re keeping you on.

Where were you born, friend?

Here in Vienna, sir.

Do you have an income of 80 pounds a year?

Yes, sir.

All right. What do you do, sir?

Bartender; a poor widow’s bartender.

Your employer’s name?

Mistress Overdone.

Has she had more than one husband?

Nine, sir. She got the name Overdone from the last one.

Nine! Come here, Mr. Froth. Mr. Froth, I’d prefer you not associate with bartenders. They’ll draw you dry, Mr. Froth, and you’ll get them hanged. Get out, and don’t let me hear of you again.

Thank you, your worship. Personally, I never go into bars, unless I’m drawn in.

Well, not anymore, Mr. Froth. Goodbye.

Come here, Mr. Bartender. What’s your name, Mr. Bartender?

Pompey.

What else?

Ass, sir.

Yes, and your ass is the biggest thing about you, so in the crudest sense you are Pompey the Great. Pompey, you’re a part-time pimp, however much you hide it by bartending, aren’t you? Come on, it’ll be better for you if you tell me the truth.

Honestly, sir, I’m a poor man just trying to earn a living.

How would you live, Pompey? By being a pimp? What do you think of that profession, Pompey? Is it a legal profession?

If the law allowed it, sir.

But the law will not allow it, Pompey, nor will it be allowed in Vienna.

Does your worship mean to castrate and spay all the young men and women in town?

No, Pompey.

Then, sir, in my poor opinion, they’ll get it on. If your worship would make arrangements for the whores and their clients, you wouldn’t need to fear the pimps.

I can tell you, we’re introducing some strong penalties— specifically, beheading and hanging.

If you behead and hang everyone who breaks the law by having sex, in just ten years you’ll have to commission people to repopulate the city. If this law lasts a decade in Vienna, I’ll rent the best house in town at three cents a square foot. If you’re alive to see this, say Pompey told you so.

Thank you, Pompey, and, in return for your prediction, listen carefully. I advise you, don’t let me find you appearing before me again upon any complaint whatsoever, not even for living where you do. If I do, I’ll beat you like Julius Caesar did to your namesake—Pompey —and send you scurrying to your tent in defeat. To put it plainly, Pompey, I will have you whipped. So, for now, Pompey, goodbye.

I thank your worship for your good advice.

But I shall follow it only as my body and my opportunities dictate. Whip me? No, no; let a cart driver whip his old nag. A brave heart isn’t whipped out of his job.

Come here, Mr. Elbow; come here, Mr. Policeman. How long have you been a policeman?

Seven and a half years, sir.

I thought you’d been at the job for a while, given your skill at it. You say seven years altogether?

And a half, sir.

Oh, that’s so hard on you. It’s wrong that you have to work so much. Aren’t there enough capable men in your precinct?

Honestly, sir, few who are bright enough. They’re happy to have me substitute for them. They pay me a little money, and I handle all the duties.

Please bring me some six or seven names, the most competent people in your parish.

To your worship’s house, sir?

To my house. Goodbye.

What time is it?

Eleven, sir.

Please, come home to lunch with me.

I’m most grateful. Thank you.

Claudio’s death saddens me, but there’s no way to prevent it.

Lord Angelo is severe.

It’s unfortunately necessary. Mercy isn’t often what it seems, since pardoning a crime can lead to additional pain. Even so—poor Claudio! There’s no way to prevent it. Let’s go, sir.