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ANG. I will not do't.

ISAB. But can you if you would.

ANG. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.

ISAB. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong,
If fo your heart were touch'd with that remorse,

As mine is to him?

ANG. He's fentenc'd; 'tis too late.

Lucio. You are too cold.

[To Ifabel.

ISAB. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word,
May call it back again. Well believe this,
No ceremony that to great ones, 'longs,
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword,
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half fo good a grace,
As mercy does. If he had been as you,
And you as he, you would have flipt like him;
But he, like you, would not have been so stern.
ANG. Pray you, be gone.

ISAB. I would to heav'n I had your potency,
And you were Ifabel; fhould it then be thus?.
No; I would tell what t'were to be a judge,

And what a prifoner.

Lucio. Ay, touch him; there's the vein.
ANG. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
And you but waste your words.

ISAB. Alas! alas!

Why, all the fouls that were, were forfeit once;
And he, that might the 'vantage best have took,
Found out the remedy. How would you be,
If he, which is the top of judgment, fhould
But judge you, as you are? oh, think on that:
And mercy then will breathe within your lips,

[Exit.

Like man new made.

ANG. Be you content, fair maid.

It is the law, not I condemns your brother.
Were he my kinfman, brother, or my son,

It should be thus with him-he dies to-morrow.

ISA B. To-morrow, oh! that's fudden. Spare him, spare him.

He's not prepar'd for death. Even for our kitchens

We kill the fowl, of feafon; fhall we serve heav'n

With less respect than we do minister

To our grofs felves? good, good my lord, bethink you :
Who is it, that hath dy'd for this offence?

There's many have committed it.

LUCIO. Ay, well faid.

ANG. The law hath not been dead, tho' it hath slept :
Those many had not dar'd to do that evil,

If the first man, that did th' edict infringe,

[Afide.

Had answer'd for his deed.

Now, 'tis awake;

Take note of what is done: and, like a prophet,
Looks in a glafs that fhews what future evil's,
Or new,
or by remiffness new conceiv'd,
And fo in progress to be hatch'd and born,
Are now to have no fucceffive degrees;

But ere they live to end.

ISAB. Yet fhew some pity.

ANG. I fhew it most of all, when I fhew juftice;

For then I pity thofe, I do not know;

Which a difmifs'd offence would after gaul;

And do him right, that, anfwering one foul wrong,

Lives not to act another. Be fatisfy'd;

Your brother dies to-morrow; be content.

ISAB. So you must be the first, that gives this fentence;

And he, that fuffers. Oh, 'tis excellent

To have a giant's ftrength; but it is tyrannous,
To use it like a giant.

LUCIO. That's well faid.

ISA B. Could great men thunder

[Afide.

As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet;
For every pelting, petty, officer

Would use his heav'n for thunder;

Nothing but thunder.-
F.Merciful heav'n!

Thou rather with thy fharp, and fulph'rous, bolt
Split'ft the unwedgeable and gnarled oak,

Than the foft myrtle: O, but man! proud man,
Dreft in a little brief authority,

Moft ignorant of what he's most affur'd,

His glaffy effence, like an angry ape,

Plays fuch fantastick tricks before high heav'n,

As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens,

Would all themselves laugh mortal.

LUCIO. Oh, to him, to him, wench; he will relent. [Afide.

He's coming: I perceive't.

PROV. Pray heav'n, the win him!

[To Lucio.

ISA B. We cannot weigh our brother with yourfelf:

Great men may jeft with faints; 'tis wit in them;

But, in the lefs, foul profanation.

Lucio. Thou'rt right, girl; more o'that.

[Afide.

ISAB. That in the captain's but a cholerick word,
Which in the foldier is flat blafphemy.

LUCIO. Art advis'd o'that? more on't.

[Afide.

ANG. Why do you put these fayings upon me?
ISAB. Because authority, tho' it err like others,
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itfelf,

That skins the vice o' th' top. Go to your bofom;

Knock there, and ask your heart, what it doth know
That's like my brother's fault; if it confefs

A natural guiltiness, such as is his,

Let it not found a thought upon your tongue
Against my brother's life.

ANG. She speaks, and 'tis fuch sense,

That my sense breeds with it. Fare you well.
ISAB. Gentle, my lord, turn back.

[Afide.

[To Ifab.

ANG. I will bethink me. Come again to-morrow.

ISAB. Hark, how I'll bribe you : good my lord, turn back, ANG. How? bribe me?

ISAB. Ay, with such gifts, that heav'n shall share with you.
LUCIO. You had marr'd all elfe.

ISAB. Not with fond fhekels of the tested gold,
Or ftones, whose rates are either rich, or poor,
As fancy values them; but with true prayers,
That shall be up at heav'n and enter there,
Ere fun-rife; prayers from preserved fouls,

From fafting maids, whofe minds are delicate
To nothing temporal.

ANG. Well; come to-morrow.

LUCIO. Goto; 'tis well; away.

ISAB. Heav'n keep your honour safe!

ANG. Amen :

For I am that way going to temptation,

Where prayers crofs.

[Afide.

[Afide to Ifabel.

[Afide.

ISAB. At what hour to-morrow

Shall I attend your lordship?

ANG. At any time 'fore noon.

ISAB. Save your honour !

SCENE

[Exe. Lucio and Ifabel.

VIII.

ANG. From thee; even from thy virtue.

What's this? what's this? is this her fault, or mine?

The tempter, or the tempted, who fins most?
Not fhe.-Nor doth fhe tempt.-But it is I,

That, lying by the violet in the fun,
Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower,
Corrupt with virtuous feafon. Can it be,
That modefty may more betray our sense,
Than woman's lightness? having wafte ground enough,
Shall we defire to raze the fanctuary,

And pitch our evils there? oh, fie, fie, fie!
What doft thou? or what art thou, Angelo?
Doft thou defire her foully, for those things
That make her good? Oh, let her brother live:
Thieves for their robbery have authority,

When judges steal themselves. What? do I love her,
That I defire to hear her speak again,

And feast upon her eyes? what is't I dream on?
Oh, cunning enemy, that, to catch a faint,
With faints doft bait thy hook! Most dangerous
Is that temptation, that doth goad us on

To fin in loving virtue. Ne'er could the strumpet,
With all her double vigour, art and nature,
Once ftir my temper; but this virtuous maid
Subdues me quite. Ever 'till this very now,

When men were fond, I fmil'd, and wonder'd how. [Exit.

SCENE IX.

Changes to a prison.

Enter Duke habited like a friar, and Provo.

DUKE. Hail to you, Provoft! fo, I think, you are. PROV. I am the Provoft; what's your will, good friar?

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