In "Conjuring Shakespeare" (1997), a show that discusses elements of the performance of Shakespeare, David Tennant plays Angelo in a scene from William Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure" (specifically, Act 2 Scene 4). Fiona Shaw provides an introduction breaking down her directorial choices in the context of the play. The full scene from the play without commentary starts at 6:00, if you'd like to skip ahead to that. I have closed captioned it. Also, part of the scene's text is below (it was too long to fit all of it into the description): ANGELO Answer to this: I, now the voice of the recorded law, Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life: Might there not be a charity in sin To save this brother's life? ISABELLA Please you to do't, I'll take it as a peril to my soul, It is no sin at all, but charity. ANG. Pleased you to do't at peril of your soul, Were equal poise of sin and charity. ISA. That I do beg his life, if it be sin, Heaven let me bear it! you granting of my suit, If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer To have it added to the faults of mine, And nothing of your answer. ANG. Nay, but hear me. Your sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant, Or seem so craftily; and that's not good. ISA. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, But graciously to know I am no better. ANG. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright When it doth tax itself; as these black masks Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me; To be received plain, I'll speak more gross: Your brother is to die. And his offence is so, as it appears, Accountant to the law upon that pain. Admit no other way to save his life,-- As I subscribe not that, nor any other, But in the loss of question,--that you, his sister, Finding yourself desired of such a person, Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, Could fetch your brother from the manacles Of the all-building law; and that there were No earthly mean, but that either You must lay down the treasures of your body To this supposed, or else to let him suffer; What would you do? ISA. As much for my poor brother as myself: That is, were I under the terms of death, The impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies, And strip myself to death, as to a bed That longing have been sick for, ere I'd yield My body up to shame. ANG. Then must your brother die. ISA. And 'twere the cheaper way: Better it were a brother died at once, Than that a sister, by redeeming him, Should die forever. ANG. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence That you have slander'd so? ISA. Ignomy in ransom and free pardon Are of two houses: lawful mercy Is nothing kin to foul redemption. ANG. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant; And rather proved the sliding of your brother A merriment than a vice. ISA. Pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out, To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean: I something do excuse the thing I hate, For his advantage that I dearly love. ANG. We are all frail. ISA. Else let my brother die, If not a feodary, but only he Owe and succeed thy weakness. ANG. Nay, women are frail too. ISA. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves; Which are as easy broke as they make forms. Women! Help Heaven! men their creation mar In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail; For we are soft as our complexions are, And credulous to false prints. ANG. I think it well: And from this testimony of your own sex,-- Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger Than faults may shake our frames,--let me be bold; I do arrest your words. Be that you are, That is, a woman; if you be more, you're none; If you be one, as you are well express'd By all external warrants, show it now, By putting on the destined livery. ISA. I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord, Let me entreat you speak the former language. ANG. Plainly conceive, I love you. ISA. My brother did love Juliet, And you tell me that he shall die for it. ANG. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. ISA. I know your virtue hath a licence in't, Which seems a little fouler than it is, To pluck on others. ANG. Believe me, on mine honour, My words express my purpose. ISA. Little honour to be much believed, And most pernicious purpose! Seeming, seeming! I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for't: Sign me a present pardon for my brother, Or with an outstretch'd throat I'll tell the world aloud What man thou art. ANG. Who will believe thee, Isabel? My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life, My vouch against you, and my place i' the state, Will so your accusation overweigh, That you shall stifle in your own report And smell of calumny. I have begun, And now I give my sensual race the rein: Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite; Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes, That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother By yielding up thy body to my will; Or else he must not only die the death, But thy unkindness shall his death draw out To lingering sufferance.

• published: 13 Dec 2018
• views: 11851