Enter ANGELO.

Ang.
Now, what's the matter, provost?
Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow?
Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea? hadst thou not order?
Why dost thou ask again ?

Prov.

Left I might be too rash:

Under your good correction, I have seen,
When, after execution, judgement hath
Repented o'er his doom.

Ang.

Go to; let that be mine :

Do you your office, or give up your place,

And you shall well be spar'd.

Prov.

I crave your honour's pardon.—

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

Ang.

Dispose of her

To fome more fitter place; and that with speed.

Re-enter Servant.

Serv. Here is the fifter of the man condemn'd, Defires access to you.

Prov. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid, And to be fhortly of a fifterhood,

If not already.

Ang.

Well, let her be admitted. [Exit Servant.

See you, the fornicatrefs be remov'd;

Let her have needful, but not lavish, means;
There shall be order for it.

Enter

Enter LUCIO and ISABELLA.

Prov. Save your honour!

[Offering to retire.

Ang. Stay a little while.-[To ISAB.] You are welcome: What's your will?

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

Ang.

Well; what's your suit ? Ifab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor, And most defire fhould meet the blow of juftice; For which I would not plead, but that I muft; 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 : 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, whose fine stands in record,
And let go by the actor.

Ijab.

O juft, but severe law!

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

[Retiring.

Lucio. [To ISAB.] Give not o'er fo: to him again, in

treat 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 defire it:

To him, I fay.

Ifab. Muft he needs die?

Ang.

Ang.

Maiden, no remedy.

Ifab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him, And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy. Ang. I will not do't.

fab.

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.

[To ISABELLA.

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 sword,
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 you as he, you would have flipt like him;
But he, like you, would not have been fo ftern.
Ang. Pray you, begone.

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 prisoner.

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! ̧ ́

Ifab.
Why, all the fouls that were, were forfeit once;
And He that might the vantage best have took,
Found out the remedy: How would you be,
If he, which is the top of judgement, should
But judge you as you are? O, think on that;

[Afide.

And

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 son,

It should be thus with him ;-he must die to-morrow. Ifab. To-morrow? O, that's fudden! Spare him, spare

him;

He's not prepar'd for death! Even for our kitchens

We kill the fowl of feafon; fhall we ferve heaven

With less refpect than we do minister

To our grofs felves? Good, good my lord, bethink you: Who is it that hath died for this offence?

There's many have committed it.

Lucio.

Ay, well faid.

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,

Had answer'd for his deed: now, 'tis awake;

Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet,
Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils,
(Either now, or by remiffness new-conceiv'd,
And fo in progress to be hatch'd and born,)
Are now to have no fúccessive degrees,
But, where they live, to end.

Ifab.

Yet fhow fome pity.

Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice;

For then I pity those I do not know,

Which a difmifs'd offence would after gall;

And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong,

Lives not to act another. Be fatisfied;

Your brother dies to-morrow; be content.

Ifab. So you must be the first, that gives this fentence; And he, that fuffers: O, it is excellent

Το

To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous,
To use it like a giant.

Ifab. 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 fharp and fulphurous bolt,

Split'ft the unwedgeable and gnarled oak,

Than the foft myrtle ;-O, but man, proud man!
Dreft in a little brief authority;

Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,
His glaffy effence,—like an angry ape,

Plays fuch fantastick tricks before high heaven,
As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
Would all themselves laugh mortal.

Lucio. O, to him, to him, wench: he will relent;
He's coming; I perceiv't.

Prov.

Pray heaven fhe win him! Ifab. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself: Great men may jeft with faints: 'tis wit in them; But, in the lefs, foul profanation.

Lucio. Thou'rt in the right, girl; more o' that. Ifab. That in the captain's but a cholerick word, Which in the foldier is flat blafphemy.

Lucio. Art advis'd o' that? more on't.

Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me?
Ifab. 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 bofom;

Knock there; and ask your heart, what it doth know
That's like my brother's fault if it confefs

:

A natural guiltinefs, fuch as is his,

Let