LUCIO.
Hail, virgin, if you be; as those cheek-roses
Proclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me
As bring me to the sight of Isabella,
A novice of this place, and the fair sister
To her unhappy brother Claudio?
ISABELLA.
Why her unhappy brother? let me ask;
The rather, for I now must make you know
I am that Isabella, and his sister.
LUCIO.
Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you:
Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.
ISABELLA.
Woe me! For what?
LUCIO.
For that which, if myself might be his judge,
He should receive his punishment in thanks:
He hath got his friend with child.
ISABELLA.
Sir, make me not your story.
LUCIO.
It is true.
I would not — though 'tis my familiar sin
With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest,
Tongue far from heart — play with all virgins so:
I hold you as a thing ensky'd and sainted;
By your renouncement an immortal spirit;
And to be talk'd with in sincerity,
As with a saint.
ISABELLA.
You do blaspheme the good in mocking me.
LUCIO.
Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus:
Your brother and his lover have embraced:
As those that feed grow full: as blossoming time,
That from the seedness the bare fallow brings
To teeming foison; even so her plenteous womb
Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.
