Hail to you, Provost, so I think you are.
Hail to you, Provost, so I think you are.
Hail to you, Provost, so I think you are.
Hail to you, Provost, so I think you are.
I am the Provost. What’s your will, good friar?
I am the Provost. What’s your will, good friar?
I am the Provost. What’s your will, good friar?
I am the Provost. What’s your will, good friar?
Bound by my charity and my blessed 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.
Bound by my charity and my blessed 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.
Bound by my charity and my blessed 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.
Bound by my charity and my blessed order, I come to visit the afflicted spirits
I would do more than that, if more were needful.
I would do more than that, if more were needful.
I would do more than that, if more were needful.
I would do more than that, if more were needful.
Juliet has almost no stage time in Measure for Measure — she appears briefly in 2-3, is mentioned frequently, and reappears in the final scene. Yet she is one of the play's most morally complete characters. Her answer to the Duke — 'Yes, as I love the woman that wronged him' — is structurally perfect: it accepts guilt, insists on mutuality, and expresses love all at once in ten words. Her 'I repent me as it is an evil, and take the shame with joy' is the only genuine expression of Christian contrition in the entire play. Everyone else repents strategically: Claudio from fear, Angelo from consequence. Juliet repents freely, voluntarily, and completely. The play doesn't reward this. She survives, she gets Claudio back in Act 5, but her voice barely registers in the resolution. Shakespeare gives her the most theologically complete response in the play and then moves on. The question of what Juliet actually wanted from her life is never asked or answered.
When must he die?
When must he die?
When must he die?
When must he die?
As I do think, tomorrow.
As I do think, tomorrow.
As I do think, tomorrow.
As I do think, tomorrow.
The Duke has dressed as a friar — a confessional role that is, in Christian tradition, a position of trust. Penitents confess under the seal of the confessional, and priests are absolutely forbidden from using what they hear. The Duke is using this role to gather information, not to provide genuine sacramental care. His questioning of Juliet — though it passes as pastoral — is clearly serving his own purposes of surveillance and manipulation. Even his diagnosis ('your sin was heavier than his') serves to manage Juliet's emotional state rather than illuminate theological truth. This is the play's most disturbing aspect of the Duke's behavior: he appropriates the structures of religion and mercy to serve his own agenda. The audience is primed from 1-3 to know his real purpose, which makes every 'friar' scene slightly uncomfortable. Whether Shakespeare intends us to condemn the Duke for this, or accept it as governance, is genuinely unresolved.
Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry?
Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry?
Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry?
Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry?
Juliet speaks rarely and briefly — this is almost her only scene — but every line is precisely weighted. Her 'Yes, as I love the woman that wronged him' is one of the sharpest lines in the play: mutual love expressed through mutual fault. Watch for how she accepts full moral responsibility while maintaining that the love was real and equal.
I do; and bear the shame most patiently.
I do; and bear the shame most patiently.
I do; and bear the shame most patiently.
I do; and bear the shame most patiently.
I’ll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience,
And try your penitence, if it be sound
Or hollowly put on.
I’ll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience, And try your penitence, if it be sound Or hollowly put on.
I’ll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience, And try your penitence, if it be sound Or hollowly put on.
I’ll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience, And try your penitence, if
I’ll gladly learn.
I’ll gladly learn.
I’ll gladly learn.
I’ll gladly learn.
Love you the man that wronged you?
Love you the man that wronged you?
Love you the man that wronged you?
Love you the man that wronged you?
Yes, as I love the woman that wronged him.
Yes, as I love the woman that wronged him.
Yes, as I love the woman that wronged him.
Yes, as I love the woman that wronged him.
So then it seems your most offenceful act
Was mutually committed?
So then it seems your most offenceful act Was mutually committed?
So then it seems your most offenceful act Was mutually committed?
So then it seems your most offenceful act Was mutually committed?
Mutually.
Mutually.
Mutually.
Mutually.
The Duke's theological examination of Juliet turns on a real distinction in Catholic moral theology: attrition (imperfect contrition — being sorry because of the consequences) versus contrition (perfect contrition — being sorry for offending God). The Duke is checking which one Juliet has, because only genuine contrition produces valid absolution. Juliet's answer — 'I repent as it is an evil, and take the shame with joy' — demonstrates contrition: she's not repenting to avoid punishment (the shame is already happening and she accepts it joyfully). This scene was theologically legible to Shakespeare's Catholic-background audience in a way that's lost to most modern readers. The play is set in a specifically Catholic moral universe, and the distinction matters: Juliet, who might seem like a minor character who sinned and suffered, turns out to have the most spiritually advanced response in the play.
Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.
Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.
Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.
Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.
I do confess it, and repent it, father.
I do confess it, and repent it, father.
I do confess it, and repent it, father.
I do confess it, and repent it, father.
’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—
’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—
’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—
’Tis meet so, daughter; but lest you do repent As that the sin hath brought you
I do repent me as it is an evil,
And take the shame with joy.
I do repent me as it is an evil, And take the shame with joy.
I do repent me as it is an evil, And take the shame with joy.
I do repent me as it is an evil, And take the shame with joy.
There rest.
Your partner, as I hear, must die tomorrow,
And I am going with instruction to him.
Grace go with you! _Benedicite!_
There rest. Your partner, as I hear, must die tomorrow, And I am going with instruction to him. Grace go with you! _Benedicite!_
There rest. Your partner, as I hear, must die tomorrow, And I am going with instruction to him. Grace go with you! _Benedicite!_
There rest. Your partner, as I hear, must die tomorrow, And I am going with inst
Must die tomorrow? O, injurious love
That respites me a life, whose very comfort
Is still a dying horror!
Must die tomorrow? O, injurious love That respites me a life, whose very comfort Is still a dying horror!
Must die tomorrow? O, injurious love That respites me a life, whose very comfort Is still a dying horror!
Must die tomorrow? O, injurious love That respites me a life, whose very comfort
’Tis pity of him.
’Tis pity of him.
’Tis pity of him.
’Tis pity of him.
The Reckoning
This is a short scene with a strange moral texture. The Duke-as-friar appears to be conducting pastoral care — questioning Juliet about sin and repentance. But something is off. He tells her that Claudio's sin was heavier than hers (a debatable proposition), and the questioning has the quality of an examination rather than comfort. Juliet handles it with grace — 'I do repent me as it is an evil, / And take the shame with joy' — a response that is almost impossibly right. The scene ends with her learning that Claudio is to be executed tomorrow, and her cry is one of the most compressed grief in the play.
If this happened today…
Imagine a hospital chaplain who is secretly the hospital's undercover CEO, doing his own audit of the ward under the guise of pastoral visits. He asks a patient questions that are slightly too precise and slightly too pointed to be purely spiritual — he needs to understand her psychological state, but he's also gathering data. The patient, despite being exhausted and near term, answers everything with unusual clarity and dignity. When the chaplain tells her the man she loves may not make it through the night, she breaks down in a way that makes clear that all her careful composure was costing her something. That's the scene.