Ifab. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word, Not the King's crown, nor the deputed fword, Ifab. I wou'd to heav'n I had your potency, Lucio. Ay, touch him; there's the vein." Why, all the fouls that are, were forfeit once: Ang. Be you content, fair maid; It is the law, not I, condemns your brother. He's not prepar'd for death: Even for our kitchins *And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made.] This is a fine Thought, and finely expreffed The Meaning is, that Mercy will add fuch Grace to your PerJon, that you will appear as amiable as Man come fresh out of the Hands of his Creator. With lefs refpect, than we do minister [you: To our grofs felves? good, good my lord, bethink Who is it, that hath dy'd for this offence? There's many hath committed it. Lucio. Ay, well faid. Ang. The law hath not been dead, tho' it hath Those many had not dar'd to do that evil, [flept: If the first man that did th' edict infringe, Ifab. Yet fhew some pity. Ang. I fhew it most of all, when I shew justice; For then I pity thofe, I do not know; Which a difmifs'd offence would after gaul; And do him right, that, anfwering one foul wrong, Lives not to act another. Be fatisfy'd; Your brother dies to-morrow; be content. Ifab. So you must be the first, that gives this fen tence; And he, that fuffers: oh, 'tis excellent To have a giant's ftrength; but it is tyrannous, Lucio. That's well faid. Ifab. Could great men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet; Would use his heav'n for thunder; Nothing but thunder: merciful heav'n! Thou rather with thy fharp, and fulph'rous, bolt Moft ignorant of what he's most affur'd, His glaffy effence, like an angry ape, Plays fuch fantastic tricks before high heav'n, Lucio. Oh, to him, to him, Wench: he will relent; He's coming: I perceive't. Prov. Pray heav'n, fhe win him! Ifab. We cannot weigh our brother with yourself : Great men may jeft with Saints; 'tis wit in them; But, in the lefs, foul prophanation. Lucio. Thou'rt right, girl; more o' that. Ifab. That in the captain's but a choleric word, Which in the foldier is flat blafphemy. Lucio. Art avis'd o'that? more on't. me? Ang. Why do you put these fayings upon Ifab. Because authority, tho' it err like others, Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, That ĺkins the vice o'th'top: go to your bofom ; Knock there, and afk your heart, what it doth know That's like my brother's fault; if it confefs A natural guiltiness, such as is his, Let it not found a thought upon your tongue Ang. She speaks, and 'tis such sense, That my fenfe bleeds with it. Fare you well. Ang. I will bethink me; come again to-morrow. Ifab. Hark, how I'll bribe you: good my lord, turn back. Ang. How? bribe me? Ifab. Ay, with fuch gifts, that heav'n fhall share with you. Lucio. You had marr'd all else. Ifab. Not with fond fhekles of the tested gold, From From fafting maids, whofe minds are dedicate To nothing temporal. Ang. Well; come to-morrow. Lucio. Go to; 'tis well; away. Ifab. Heav'n keep your Honour safe! For I am that way going to temptation, Ifab. At what hour to-morrow Ang. At any time 'fore noon. Ifab. Save your Honour! [Exeunt Lucio and Isabella. Ang What's this? what's this? is this her fault, ROM thee; even from thy virtue. or mine? The tempter, or the tempted, who fins moft? Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower, Shall we defire to raze the fanctuary, And pitch our evils there? oh, fie, fie, fie! And feast upon her eyes? what is't I dream on? Is that temptation, that doth goad us on [Exit. SCENE IX. Changes to a Prifon. Enter Duke habited like a Friar, and Provoft. Duke.TAIL to you, Provoft! fo, I think, you are. Prov. I am the Provoft; what's your will, H good Friar? Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bleft Order, I come to vifit the afflicted spirits Here in the prifon; do me the common right Prov. I would do more than that, if more were needful. Enter Juliet. Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine, Than die for this. Duke. When must he die ? Prov. As I do think, to-morrow. I have provided for you; ftay a while, [To Juliet. And you fhall be conducted. Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the fin you carry? Who falling in the flaws of her own youth Hath blifter'd her report:] Who doth not see that the Integrity of the Metaphor requires we should read, flames of her own youth. Juliet. |