Elb. And a half, Sir. Efcal. Alas! it hath been great Pains to you; they do you Wrong to put you fo oft upon't: Are there not Men in your Ward fufficient to ferve it? Elb. Faith, Sir, few of any Wit in fuch Matters; as they are chofen they are glad to chufe me for them: I do it for fome piece of Money, and go through with all. Efcal. Look you, bring me in the Names of fome fix or feven, the most fufficient of your Parish. Elb. To your Worship's House, Sir? Efcal. To my Houfe; fare you well. What's a Clock, think you? Just. Eleven, Sir. [Exit Elbow. Efcal. I pray you go home to Dinner with me. Just. I humbly thank you. Efcal. It grieves me for the Death of Claudio : But there's no Remedy. Just. Lord Angelo is fevere. Efcal. It is but needful. Mercy is not it felf, that oft looks fo; SCENE II. Enter Provoft, and a Servant. [Exeunt. Serv. He's hearing of a Cause; he will come ftraight: I'll tell him of you. Prov. Pray you do; I'll know His Pleasure; may be he will relent; alas! He hath but as offended in a Dream: All Sects, all Ages fmack of this Vice, and he To die for't! Enter Angelo. Ang. Now, what's the Matter, Provost? Prov. Is it your Will Claudio fhall die to morrow? Why doft thou ask again? Prov. Left I might be too rafh. Under your good Correction, I have feen P 4 When When after Execution, Judgment hath Ang. Go to; let that be mine; Do you your Office, or give up your Place, Prov. I crave your Honour's Pardon. What shall be done, Sir, with the groaning Juliet? Ang. Difpofe of her To fome more fitter Place, and that with speed. Ang. Hath he a Sister? Prov. Ay, my good Lord, a very virtuous Maid, And to be shortly of a Sifter-hood, If not already. See Ang. Well; let her be admitted. you the Fornicatrefs be remov'd; Let her have needful, but not lavish Means; There shall be Order for't. Enter Lucio and Ifabella. Prov. 'Save your Honour. Ang. Stay a little while. Y'are welcome; what's your Will? Ifab. I am a woful Suitor to your Honour, Please but your Honour hear me. Ang. Well; what's your Suit? Ifab. There is a Vice that moft I do abhor, And more defire should meet the Blow of Juftice, For which I muft not plead, but that I am Ang. Well; the Matter? Ifab. I have a Brother is condemn'd to die; I do befeech you let it be his Fault, And not my Brother. Prov. Heav'n give thee moving Graces. Ang. Condemn the Fault, and not the Actor of it; To fine the Faults, whofe Fine ftands in Record, Ifab. Ifab. O juft, but fevere Law: I had a Brother then; Heav'n keep your Honour. You could not with a more tame Tongue defire it, Ifab. Muft he needs die? Ang. Maiden, no Remedy. Ifab. Yes; I do think that you may pardon him, And neither Heav'n nor Man grieve at the Mercy. Ang. I will not do't. Ifab. But can you if you would? Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.' Ifab. 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. Ifab. Too late? why fo? I that do fpeak a Word, Not the King's Crown, nor the deputed Sword, As Mercy does: If he had been as you, and you as he, Ang. Pray you be gone. Ifab. I would to Heav'n I had your Potency, And you were Isabel; should it then be thus? No; I would tell what 'twere 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. Ifab. Alas! alas! Why, all the Souls that were, were Forfeit once; Bu But judge you as you are? Oh, think on that, Ang. Be you content, fair Maid, It is the Law, not I, condemns your Brother. Spare him, fpare him; He's not prepar'd for Death: Even for our Kitchins To our grofs felves? Good, good my Lord, bethink you: There's many have committed it. Lucio. Ay, well faid, Ang. The Law hath not been dead, tho' it hath flept: Thofe many had not dar'd to do that Evil, If the first, that did th' Edict infringe, Now 'tis awake, Had answer'd for his Deed. Ifab. Yet fhew fome 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;1 And do him Right, that anfwering one foul Wrong, Lives not to act another. Be fatisfied; Your Brother dies to Morrow; be content. Ifab. So you must be the firft that gives this Sentence, And he that fuffers: Oh, it is excellent To have a Giant's Strength; but it is tyrannous) Lucio. That's well faid. Ifab. Could great Men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet; Would Would ufe his Heav'n for Thunder; Nothing but Thunder: Merciful Heav'n, Thou rather with thy fharp and fulphurous Bolt Moft ignorant of what he's most assur'd, Plays fuch fantaftick Tricks before high Heav'n, Lucio. Oh, to him, to him Wench; he will relent; Prov. Pray Heaven fhe win him, Ifab. We cannot weigh our Brother with our felf: Great Men may jeft with Saints; 'tis Wit in them, But in the lefs foul Prophanation. Lucio. Thou'rt f'right, Girl; more o'that. Ifab. That in the Captain's but a cholerick Word, Which in the Soldier is flat Blafphemy. Lucio. Art advis'd o'that? More on't. Ang. Why do you put thefe Sayings upon me? That skins the Vice o' th' top: Go to your Bofom, Let it not found a Thought upon your Tongue Ang. She fpeaks, and 'tis fuch Senfe, That my Senfe breeds with it. Fare you well Ifab. Gentle, my Lord, turn back. Ang. I will bethink me: Come again to Morrow. Ifab. Hark, how I'll bribe you: Good my Lord turn back. Ang. How? Bribe me? Ifab. Ay, with fuch Gifts that Heav'n fhall share with you. Ifab. Not with fond Sickles of the tefted Gold, Tha |