ISABELLA.

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

I do beseech you, let it be his fault,

And not my

brother.

Angelo. 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 fine the faults, whose fine stands in record,

And let go by the actor.

Isabella.

O just, but severe law!

I had a brother then.-Heaven keep your honour!

Must he needs die?

Angelo.

Maiden, no remedy.

He's sentenc'd: 'tis too late...

......

Isabella. 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.
Angelo. 'Pray you, begone.

Isabella. 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,

And what a prisoner.

Angelo. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,

And

you but waste your words. . .

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.

Isabella. To-morrow? O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare

him :

He's not prepar'd for death!

MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Act II. Scene II.