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of your prophecy, hark you; I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon any complaint whatfoever; no, not for dwelling where you do: if I do, Pompey, I fhall beat you to your tent, and prove a fhrewd Cæfar to you: in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt. So, for this time, Pompey, fare you well.

Clown. I thank your worship for your good counsel. [Afide.] But I fhall follow it, as the flesh and fortune fhall better determine.

Whip me? No, no: let carman whip his jade; The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade. [Exit. Efcal. Come hither to me, mafter Elbow; come hither, master conftable. How long have you been in this place of constable?

Elb. Seven years and a half, fir.

Efcal. I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had continued in it fome time: You fay, seven years together?

Elb. And a half, fir.

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, fir, 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 moft fufficient of your parish. Elb. To your worship's houfe, fir?

Efcal. To my house: Fare you well. [Exit Elbow. What's a clock, think you?

Juft. Eleven, fir.

Efcal. I pray you, home to dinner with me.

Juft. I humbly thank you.

Efcal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio:

But there's no remedy.

Just.

Juft. Lord Angelo is fevere.
Efcal. It is but needful:

Mercy is not itself, that oft looks fo;

Pardon is ftill the nurse of fecond woe:

But yet,-poor Claudio!-There's no remedy.

Come, fir.

SCENE II.

ANGELO's HOUSE.

Enter Provoft, and a Servant.

[Exeunt.

Serv. He's hearing of a caufe; 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 fects, all ages fmack of this vice; and he
To die for it!-

Enter Angelo.

Ang. Now, what's the matter, provost?

Prov. Is it your will, Claudio fhall die to-morrow? Ang. Did not I tell thee, yea? hadft thou not order? Why doft thou ask again?

Prov. Left I might be too rafh.

Under your good correction, I have seen,
When, after execution, judgment hath

Repented o'er his doom.

Ang. Go to; let that be mine :

Do you your office, or give up your place,

And you fhall well be fpar'd.

Prov. I crave your honour's pardon.

What shall be done, fir, with the groaning Juliet? She's very near her hour.

Ang. Difpofe of her

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To fome more fitting place; and that with speed.
Serv. Here is the fifter of the man condemn'd,
Defires access to you.

Ang. Hath he a fifter?

Prov. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid, And to be shortly of a fifter-hood,

If not already.

Ang. Well, let her be admitted.

See you, the fornicatrefs be remov'd;

[Exit Servant.

Let her have needful, but not lavish, means;

There shall be order for it.

Enter Lucio and Ifabella.

Prov. 'Save your honour!

Ang. Stay yet a while.-[To Ifab.] You are welcome; what's your will?

Ifab. I am a woful fuitor to your honour, Please but your honour hear me.

Ang. Well, what's your fuit?

Ifab. There is a vice, that moft I do abhor,
And most defire should meet the blow of justice;
For which I would not plead, but that I must;
For which I must not plead but that I am?
At war, 'twixt will, and will not.

Ang. Well; the matter?

Ifab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die:

Stay yet a while.

-] It is not clear why the provost is

biddden to stay, nor when he goes out. JOHNSON.

At

9 For which I must not plead, but that I am
war, 'twixt will, and will not.]

This is obfcure; perhaps it may be mended by reading,

For which I must now plead; but yet I am

At war, 'twixt will, and will not.

Yet and yt are almoft undiftinguishable in a manufcript. Yet no alteration is neceffary, fince the fpeech is not unintelligible as it now ftands. JOHNSON.

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 cypher of a function, To find the faults, whofe fine stands in record, And let go by the actor.

Ifab. O juft, but severe law!

I had a brother then.-Heaven keep your honour! Lucio. [To Ifab.] Give't not o'er fo: to him again; intreat him;

Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown;
You are too cold: if you fhould need a pin,
You could not with more tame a tongue defire it.
To him I fay.

Ifab. Must he needs die?

Ang. Maiden, no remedy.

Jab. Yes; I do think, that you might pardon

him,

And neither heaven, 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 so 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.

Ifab. 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 fword, 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

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.

Ifab. I would to heaven I had your potency,
And you were Ifabel! fhould it then be thus ?
No, I would tell what 'twere to be a judge,
And what a prifoner.

Lucio. [Afide.] 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 fouls that were, were forfeit once; '
And He, that might the 'vantage beft have took,
Found out the remedy. How would you be,
If He, which is the Top of judgment, should
But judge you, as you are? Oh, think on that:
And mercy then will breathe within your lips,
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 fon,

It fhould be thus with him:-he muft die to-morrow, Ifab. To-morrow? Oh! that's fudden. Spare him, fpare him.

He's not prepar❜d for death! Even for our kitchens We kill the fowl, of feafon; fhall we serve heaven

1 — all the fouls that were,] This is falfe divinity. We fhould read, are. WARBURTON.

mercy

2 And then will breath within your lips, Like man new made.] :

This is a fine thought, and finely expreffed. The meaning is, that mercy will add fuch a grace to your perfon, that you will appear es amiable as a man come fresh out of the hands of his Creator.

WARBURTON.

I rather think the meaning is, You would then change the severity of your prefent character, In familiar fpeech, You would be quite

another man.

JOHNSON.

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