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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 fword,
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 slipt like him;
But he, like you, would not have been so stern.
Ang. Pray you, be gone.

Ifab. I wou'd to heav'n 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 prifoner.

Lucio. Ay, touch him; there's the vein."
Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
And you but waste your words.
Ifab. Alas! alas!

Why, all the fouls that are, 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 judgment, should
But judge you, as you are? oh, think on that;
* 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 fon,
It fhould be thus with him; he dies to-morrow.
Jab. To-morrow, Oh! that's sudden. Spare him,
spare him.

He's not prepar'd for death: Even for our kitchins
We kill the fowl, of season; fhall we serve heav'n

*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,
Had answered for his deed. Now, 'tis awake;
Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet,
Looks in a glafs that fhews what future evils,
Or new, or by remiffness new-conceiv'd,
And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,
Are now to have no fucceffive degrees ;
But ere they live, to end.

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,
To use it like a giant.

Lucio. That's well faid.

Ifab. Could great men thunder

As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet;
For every pelting, petty, officer

Would use his heav'n for thunder;

Nothing but thunder: merciful heav'n!

Thou rather with thy fharp, and fulph'rous, bolt
Split'ft the unwedgeable and gnarled oak,
Than the foft myrtle: O, but man! proud man,
Dreft in a little brief authority,

Moft ignorant of what he's most affur'd,

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His glaffy effence, like an angry ape,

Plays fuch fantastic tricks before high heav'n,
As makes the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
Would all themselves laugh mortal.

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
Against my brother's life.

Ang. She speaks, and 'tis such sense,

That my fenfe bleeds with it. Fare you well.
Ifab. Gentle, my lord, turn back.

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,
Or ftones, whose rate are either rich, or poor,
As fancy values them; but with true prayers,
That fhall be up at heav'n, and enter there,
Ere fun-rife: prayers from preferved fouls,

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!
Ang. Amen:

For I am that way going to temptation,
Where prayers cross,

Ifab. At what hour to-morrow
Shall I attend your lordship?

Ang. At

any time 'fore noon. Ifab. Save your Honour!

[Exeunt Lucio and Isabella.

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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?
Not fhe; nor doth fhe tempt; but it is I,
That, lying by the violet in the fun,

Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower,
Corrupt with virtuous feafon. Can it be,
That modesty may more betray our sense,
Than woman's lightnefs? having wafte ground
enough,

Shall we defire to raze the fanctuary,

And pitch our evils there? oh, fie, fie, fie!
What doft thou? or what art thou, Angelo?
Doft thou defire her foully, for those things
That make her good? Oh, let her brother live:
Thieves for their robbery have authority,
When judges steal themselves. What? do I love her,
That I defire to hear her fpeak again,

And feast upon her eyes? what is't I dream on?
Oh, cunning enemy, that, to catch a Saint,
With Saints doft bait thy hook! most dangerous

Is that temptation, that doth goad us on
To fin in loving virtue: ne er could the ftrumpet,
With all her double vigour, art and nature,
Once ftir my temper; but this virtuous maid
Subdues me quite: Ever 'till this very Now,
When men were fond, I fmil'd, and wonder'd how.

[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
To let me fee them, and to make me know
The nature of their crimes; that I may minifter
To them accordingly.

Prov. I would do more than that, if more were

needful.

Enter Juliet.

Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine,
*Who falling in the flames of her own youth,
Hath blifter'd her report: fhe is with child;
And he, that got it, fentenc'd: a young man
More fit to do another fuch offence,

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.

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