Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown; You could not with more tame a tongue desire it: 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. Isab. But might you do 't, and do the world no Isab. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word, Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, If he had been as you, and you as he, You would have slipp'd like him; but he, like you, Ang. Lucio. Ay, touch him; there's the vein. Isab. Alas! alas! a Well believe this-be well assured of this. VOL. III. Y [Aside. Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once; 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 ;-be 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;b 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 that did the edict infringe Had answer'd for his deed; now, 't is awake; Yet show some pity. Isab. a This has, we think, reference to the fine allusion to the redemption which has gone before: Think on that, and you will then be as merciful as a man regenerate. b The fowl of season-when in season. 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, 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 Lucio. That 's well said. Isab. Could great men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, Would use his heaven for thunder: nothing but thunder. Merciful Heaven! Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, Most ignorant of what he 's most assur'd, Plays such fantastic 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: 't is 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 choleric word, Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. Lucio. Art avis'd o' that? more on 't. a We understand this passage,-as they are angels, they weep at folly; if they had our spleens, they would laugh, as mortals. 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; Knock there; and ask your heart, what it doth know That 's like my brother's fault: if it confess A natural guiltiness, such as is his, Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue Ang. She speaks, and 't is Such sense, that my sense breeds with it.-Fare you well. Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back. 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 Heaven shall share with you. Lucio. You had marr'd all else. Isab. Not with fond shekels of the tested gold, Ang. Ang. Amen : [Aside. At what hour to-morrow Isab. Isab. Save your honour! At any time 'fore noon. [Exeunt LUCIO, Isab., and Prov. Ang. From thee; even from thy virtue !-- Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower, Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough, Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary, When judges steal themselves. What? do I love her, And feast upon her eyes? What is 't I dream on? With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous To sin in loving virtue: never could the strumpet, When men were fond, I smil'd and wonder'd how. [Exit. SCENE III.A Room in a Prison. Enter DUKE, habited like a Friar, and Provost. Duke. Hail to you, provost! so I think you are. Prov. I am the provost: What's your will, good friar? Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order, I come to visit the afflicted spirits Here in the prison: do me the common right |