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Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea? hadst thou not
order? Why dost tbou ask again? Pror.
Lest I might be too rash: Under your good correction, I have seen, When, after execution, judgemeni bath 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. Prot.
I crave your honour's pardon.-
Dispose of her
Sero. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd, Desires access to you. Ang.
Hath he a sister? Proo. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid, And to be shortly of a sisterhood, If not already. Ang. Well, let her be admitted.
(Erit Serrant. 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 Isab.) You are wel.
come: What's your will ? Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, Please but
honour hear me. Ang.
Well; what's your suit? Isab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor, And most desire should meet the blow of justice;
For which I would not plead, but that I must;
Well; the matter?
Heaven give thee moving graces!
O just, but severe law!
(Retiring. Lucio. [To Isab.] Give't pot o'er so: to him again,
entreat him ;
Isab. Must he needs die?
Maiden, no remedy.
Ang. I will not do't.
But can you, if you would ?
He's sentencd; 'tis too late.
[To Isabella. Isab. Too late? why, no; 1, that do speak a word, May call it back again: Well believet this,
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,
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, And what a prisoner.
Lucio. Ay, touch him: there's the vein. (Aside.
Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
Be you content, fair maid:
Ay, well said.
• When in season.
Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath
Yet show some pity.
That's well said.
thunder. Merciful heaven! Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, Split'st the unwedgeable aud gnarledt oak, Than the soft myrtle:-0, but man, proud man! Drest in a little brief authority; Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd, His glassy essence, like an angry ape, Plays such fantastick tricks before high heaven,
As make the angels weep: who, with our spleens, Would all themselves laugh mortal.
Lucio. 0, to him, to him, wench: he will relent; He's coming, I perceive't. Proo.
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 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'do' that? more on't.
Lab. Because authority, though it err like others,
She speaks, and 'tis Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. - Fare
Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back.
Lucio. You had marr'd all else.
Isab. Not with fond shekels of the tested* gold, Or stones, whose rates are either rich or poor, As fancy values them: but with trye prayers, That shall be up in heaven, and enter there,
• Attested, stamped.