All fects, all ages fmack o' th' vice; and he

To die for it!

Enter Angelo.

Ang. Now, what's the matter, Provost?

Prov. Is it your will Claudio fhall die to-morrow?. Ang. Did not I tell thee yea? hadft thou not order? Why afk again?

Prov. Left I might be too rash.

Under your good correction, I have feen
When after execution judgment hath
Repented o'er his doom.

Ang. Let that be mine

Do you your office, or give up your place,
And you fhall well be spar'd.

Prov. I crave your pardon.

What shall be done, Sir, with the groaning Juliet?
She's very near her hour.

Ang. Difpofe of her

To fome more fitting place, and that with speed.
Serv. Here is the fifter of the man condemn'd,
Defires access to you.

Ang. Hath he a fifter?

Prov. Ay, my good lord, a very virtuous maid, And to be fhortly of a fifter-hood,

Let her have needful, but not lavish means;

There fhall be order for it.

[Exit Servant.

SCENE VII. Enter Lucio and Ifabella.

Prov. 'Save your honour!

Ang. Stay yet a while. Y'are welcome; what's your will ?

Ifab. I am a woful fuitor to your honour,

Pleafe but your honour hear me.

Ang. What's your fuit ?

Ifab. There is a vice that most I do abhor,

And most defire should meet the blow of juffice,
For which I would not plead, but that I muft;
For which I muft plead, albeit I am
At war 'twixt will, and will not,

Ang.

Ang. Well; the matter?

fab. I have a brother is condemn'd to-day; I do befeech you, let it be his fault,

And not my brother.

Prov. Heav'n give thee moving graces!

Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it?
Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done;
Mine were the very cipher of a function

To fine the faults, whofe fine ftands in record,
And let go by the actor.

Ifab. O juft, but severe law!

I had a brother then;-heav'n keep your honour! Lucio. Give't not o'er fo: to him again, intreat him, Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown;

You are too cold; if you should need a pin,

You could not with a more tame tongue defire it.
To him, I fay.

Ifab. Muft he needs die?

Ang. Maiden, no remedy.

Ifab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him,
And neither heav'n nor man grieve at the mercy.
Ang. I will not do't.

Ifab. But can you if you would?

Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. lab. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong, If fo your heart were touch'd with that remorse As mine is to him?

Ang. He's fentenc'd; 'tis too late.

Lucio. You are too cold.

Ifab. Too late? why, no; I that do speak a word,
May call it back again: and believe this,
No ceremony that to great ones belongs,
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 flipt like him; But he, like you, would not have been fo ftern. Ang. Pray you, be gone. Ifab. I would to heav'n I had your potency, VOL. II.

And

And you were fabel; fhould it then be thus?
No; 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 wafte your words.
fab. Alas! alas !

Why, all the fouls that were, 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, fhould
But judge you as you are? oh, think on that,
And then will breathe within your lips,
Like man new made.

mercy

Ang. Be you content, fair maid;

It is the law, not I, condemns your brother.
Were he my kinfman, brother, or my son,

It fhould be thus with him; he dies to-morrow.

Ifab. To-morrow? oh! that's fudden. Spare him, fpare He's not prepar'd for death: even for our kitchins [him. We kill the fowl of season; ferve we heav'n

With less refpect than we do minifter

To our grofs felves? good, good my lord, bethink you:
Who is it that hath dy'd for this offence?

There's many have committed it.

Lucio. Ay, well faid.

Ang. The law hath not been dead, tho' it hath slept : Those many had not dar'd to do that evil,

If the first man that did th' edict infringe
Had anfwer'd for his deed. Now 'tis awake,
Takes note of what is done, and like a prophet,
Looks in a glafs which fhews that future evils
Or new, or by remifsnefs new conceiv'd,
And fo in progrefs to be hatch'd and born,
Are now to have no fucceffive degrees,
But, ere they live, to end.

Jfab. Yet fhew fome pity.

Ang. I fhew it most of all when I fhew juftice; For then I pity those I do not know,

Which a diimifs'd offence would after gall;

And

And do him right, that anfwering one foul wrong,
Lives not to act another. Then be fatisfy'd ;
Your brother dies to-morrow; be content.

Ifab. So you must be the first that gives this sentence,
And he that fuffers: oh, 'tis excellent

To have a giant's ftrength; but 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

Inceffantly would use his heav'n for thunder;
Nothing but thunder: merciful, fweet 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,

His glaffy effence) like an angry ape,

Plays fuch fantaftick 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

your felf:

Great men may jest with faints; '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 cholerick word,

Which in the foldier is flat blafphemy.

Lucio. Art thou advis'd o' that? more on't, yet more.
Ang. Why do you put these fayings upon me?
Ifab. Becaufe 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 ask 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

C 2

Against

Against my brother's life.

Ang, She fpeaks, and 'tis

Such fenfe, that my fenfe bleeds with't. 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 elfe.

Ifab. Not with fond fhekels of the tested gold,
Or ftones, whofe rate is either rich or poor
As fancy values them; but with true prayers,
That shall be up at heav'n, and enter there,
Ere fun rife: prayers from preferved fouls,
From fafting maids whofe minds are dedicate
To nothing temporal.

Ang. Well; come to-morrow.
Ifab. Heav'n keep your honour fafe!
Ang. Amen! I fay:

For I am that way going to temptation,
Where prayers crofs.

Ifab. At what hour to-morrow

Shall I attend you ?

Ang. At any time 'fore noon.

Ifab. 'Save your honour!

[Afide.

[Exeunt Lucio and Ifabella.

SCENE VIII.

Ang. From thee; even from thy virtue !

What's this? what's this? is this her fault 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 modefty 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