Ang. [Exit Servant. Well, let her be admitted. See you, the fornicatress be remov'd; Let her have needful, but not lavish, means; There shall be order for it. Enter LUCIO and ISABELLA. Prov, Save your honour! [Offering to retire. Ang. Stay a little while.-[To ISA B.] You are welcome: What's your will? Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, Please but your honour hear me. Well;' what's your suit? Ang. Ang. Well; the matter? Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die : I do beseech you, let it be his fault, And not my brother. Prov. Heaven give thee moving graces! Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it! Why, every fault's condemn'd, ere it be done: Mine were the very cipher of a function, To find the faults, whose fine stands in record, Isqb. O just, but severe law! I had a brother then.-Heaven keep your honour! [Retiring. Lucio. [To ISAB.] Give't not o'er so: to him again, intreat him; Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown; You are too cold: if you should need a pin, You could not with more tame a tongue desire it:. To him, I say. Isab. Must he needs die? Ang. Maiden, no remedy. Isab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him, And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy. 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 so your heart were touch'd with that remorse' Ang. He's sentenc'd; 'tis too late. [To ISABELLA. Lucio. You are too cold 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 so good a grace, As mercy does. If he had been as you, And you as he, you would have slipt like him; But he, like you, would not have been so stern. Ang. Pray you, begone. Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency, And you were Isabel! should it then be thus? No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, Lucio. Ay, touch him: there's the vein. Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,' And you but waste your words. Alas! alas! [Aside. Isab. Like man new made. Ang. Be you content, fair maid; It is the law, not I, condemns your brother: Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, It should be thus with him ;-he must die to-morrow. Isab. To-morrow? O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him: He's not prepar'd for death! Even for our kitchens We kill the fowl of season;3 shall we serve heaven With less respect than we do minister To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you: Who is it that hath died for this offence? There's many have committed it. Lucio. Ay, well said. Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept : Those many had not dar'd to do that evil, If the first man that did the edict infringe, 3 When in season. Had answer'd for his deed: now, 'tis awake; But, where they live, to end. Isab. Yet show some pity. Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice; For then I pity those I do not know, Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall; And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong, Lives not to act another. Be satisfied; Your brother dies to-morrow; be content. Isab. So you must be the first, that gives this sentence: And he, that suffers: O, it is excellent To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant. Lucio, That's well said. Isab. Could great men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, For every pelting, petty officer, Would use his heaven for thunder; nothing but thunder. Merciful heaven! Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, Than the soft myrtle;-O, but man, proud man! Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd, Plays such fantastick tricks before high heaven, Lucio. O, to him, to him, wench: he will relent; He's coming, I perceive't. Prov. Pray heaven, she win him! Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself: Great men may jest with saints: 'tis wit in them; But, in the less, foul profanation. Lucio. Thou'rt in the right, girl; more o' that. Isab. That in the captain's but a cholerick word, Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. Lucio. Art advis'd o' that? more on't. Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me? Isab. Because authority, though it err like others, Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, That skins the vice o' the top: Go to your bosom; Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue Ang. She speaks, and 'tis Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. you well. Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back. -Fare 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? |