SCENE III. A prison

Enter, severally, DUKE, disguised as a FRIAR, and PROVOST

  DUKE. Hail to you, Provost! so I think you are.
  PROVOST. I am the Provost. What's your will, good friar?
  DUKE. Bound by my charity and my blest order,
    I come to visit the afflicted spirits
    Here in the prison. Do 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.
  PROVOST. I would do more than that, if more were needful.

Enter JULIET

    Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine,
    Who, falling in the flaws of her own youth,
    Hath blister'd her report. She is with child;
    And he that got it, sentenc'd- a young man
    More fit to do another such offence
    Than die for this.
  DUKE. When must he die?
  PROVOST. As I do think, to-morrow.
    [To JULIET] I have provided for you; stay awhile
    And you shall be conducted.
  DUKE. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry?
  JULIET. I do; and bear the shame most patiently.
  DUKE. I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience,
    And try your penitence, if it be sound
    Or hollowly put on.
  JULIET. I'll gladly learn.
  DUKE. Love you the man that wrong'd you?
  JULIET. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him.
  DUKE. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act
    Was mutually committed.
  JULIET. Mutually.
  DUKE. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.
  JULIET. I do confess it, and repent it, father.
  DUKE. 'Tis meet so, daughter; but lest you do repent
    As that the sin hath brought you to this shame,
    Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven,
    Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it,
    But as we stand in fear-
  JULIET. I do repent me as it is an evil,
    And take the shame with joy.
  DUKE. There rest.
    Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow,
    And I am going with instruction to him.
    Grace go with you! Benedicite! Exit
  JULIET. Must die to-morrow! O, injurious law,
    That respites me a life whose very comfort
    Is still a dying horror!
  PROVOST. 'Tis pity of him. Exeunt