Dost thou think, Claudio, If I would yield him my virginity Thou mightst be freed?
Come, sir, leave me your snatches and yield me a direct answer.
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.
I’ll to my brother: Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood, Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour That, had he twenty heads to tender down On twenty bloody blocks, he’d yield them up Before his sister should her body stoop To such abhorr’d pollution.
We have made inquiry of you; and we hear Such goodness of your justice that our soul Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, Forerunning more requital.
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: answer me to-morrow, Or, by the affection that now guides me most, I’ll prove a tyrant to him.
In brief,—to set the needless process by, How I persuaded, how I pray’d, and kneel’d, How he refell’d me, and how I replied,— For this was of much length,—the vile conclusion I now begin with grief and shame to utter: He would not, but by gift of my chaste body To his concupiscible intemperate lust, Release my brother; and, after much debatement, My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour, And I did yield to him.