Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea? hadst thou not order? Why dost thou ask again? Lest I might be too rash: Proc. Ang. Prov. Go to; let that be mine; I crave your honour's pardon.— What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet? She's very near her hour. Ang. Dispose of her To some more fitter place; and that with speed, Re-enter Servant. Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd, Desires access to you. Ang. Hath he a sister? Prov. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid, And to be shortly of a sisterhood, If not already. Ang. Well, let her be admitted. [Exit Servant. See you, the fornicatress be remov'd; Let her have needful, but not lavish, means; 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 your 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; Ang. Well; the matter? Isab. 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! To find the faults, whose fine stand in record, Isab. [Retiring. Lucio. [To Isab.] Give't not o'er so: to him again, entreat him; Kneel down before him, haug upon his gown; You are too cold: if you should need a pin, You could not with more tame a tongue desire it: To him, I say. Isab. Must he needs die? Ang. Maiden, no remedy. Isab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him, And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy. Ang. I will not do't. Isab. But can you, if you would? Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong, If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse Ang. He's sentenc'd; 'tis too late. [To Isabella. Lucio. You are too cold. Isab. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word, May call it back again: Well believet this, No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency, Lucio. Ay, touch him: there's the vein. [Aside. Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, And you but waste your words. Isab. Ang. It should be thus with him ;-he must die to-morrow. Isab. To-morrow? O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him: He's not prepar'd for death! Even for our kitchens We kill the fowl of season; shall we serve heaven With less respect than we do minister To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you: Who is it that hath died for this offence? There's many have committed it. Lucio. Ay, well said. • When in season. Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept: Those many had not dar'd to do that evil, Isab. Yet show some pity. Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice; For then I pity those I do not know, Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall; And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong, Lives not to act another. Be satisfied; Your brother dies to-morrow: be content. Isab. So you must be the first, that gives this sen. tence: 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 As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, Would use his heaven for thunder; nothing but thunder. Merciful heaven! Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd, 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 perceive't. Prov. 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'd o' that? more on't. Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me? Isab. 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 bosom ; Knock there; and ask your heart, what it doth know That's like my brother's fault: if it confess A natural guiltiness, such as is his, Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue Ang. She speaks, and 'tis Such sense, that my sense breeds with it.—Fare you well. Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back. Ang. I will bethink me:-Come again to-morrow. Isab. Hark, how I'll bribe you: Good my lord, turn back. Ang. How! bribe me? Isa. Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall share with you. 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 true prayers, That shall be up in heaven, and enter there, Attested, stamped. + Preserved from the corruption of the world. |