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To find the faults, whose fine stands in record,
Isab. O just, but severe law!
I had a brother, then.
Lucio [to Isabella.] entreat him ;
- Heaven keep your honor!
[Retiring. Give 't not o'er so; to him again,
Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown;
Isab. Must he needs die?
Ang. Maiden, no remedy.
Isab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him,
But can you, if you would ?
Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.
But might you do 't, and do the world no wrong, If so your heart were touched with that remorse As mine is to him?
Ang. He's sentenced; 't is too late.
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 't were to be a judge, And what a prisoner.
Lucio. [Aside.] Ay, touch him; there's the vein !
And you but waste your words.
Isab. Alas! alas!
Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once;
If He, which is the top of judgment, should
Ang. Be you content, fair maid;
It should be thus with him; - he must die to-morrow.
He's not prepared for death! Even for our kitchens.
To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you,
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 dared to do that evil, If the first man that did the edict* infringe Had answered for his deed; now, 't is awake; Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet, Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils (Either now, or by remissness new-conceived, And so in progress to be hatched and born) Are now to have no successive degrees,
But, where they live, to end.
Isab. Yet show some pity!
Ang. I show it most of all when I show justice;
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 the 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
* This word has in modern times assumed the penultimate accent; but in reading Shakspeare it is but a slight compliment to the greatest of poets to submit to his authority, and accordingly the word should here be called edict.
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet;'
Would use his heaven for thunder,
Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt,
- nothing but thunder.
Lucio. O, to him, to him, wench! he will relent; He's coming, I perceive 't.
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 advised o' that? more on't!
Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me?
That skims the vice o' the top: Go to your bosom ;
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.
Ang. I will bethink me : Come again to-morrow.
Isab. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you.
Isab. Not with fond shekels of the tested gold,