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Ifab. O juft, but fevere Law:
I had a Brother then; Heav'n keep your Honour.
Lucio. Giv't not o'er fo: To him again, intreat him,
Kneel down before him, hang upon his Gown;
You are too cold; if you fhould 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 may 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.
K Ifab. 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 fo? 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 Sword,
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,
And you were Ifabel; fhould it then be thus?
No; I would tell what 'twere to be a
And what a Prisoner.
Lucio. Ay, touch him; there's the Vein.
Ang. Your Brother is a Forfeit of the Law.
And you but waste
Ifab. Alas! alas!
Why, all the Souls that were, were Forfeit once;
And he that might the 'Vantage beft 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 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 Son,
It fhould be thus with him; he must die to Morrow.
Ifab. To Morrow? Oh! that's fudden.
Spare him, fpare him;
He's not prepar'd for Death: Even for our Kitchins
We kill the Fowl of Seafon; fhall we ferve Heav'n
With lefs Refpe&t 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 flept: Those many had not dar'd to do that Evil, If the firft, that did th' Edi& infringe, Had anfwer'd 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 Either now, or by Remifsnefs, new conceiv'd, And fo in Progrefs to be hatch'd, and born, Are now to have no fucceffive degrees, But here they live to end.
Ifab. Yet fhew fome Pity,
Ang. I fhew it most of all when I fhew Juftice;
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 fatisfied;
Your Brother dies to Morrow; be content.
Ifab. So you must be the firft that gives this Sentence, And he that fuffers : Oh, it is excellent
To have a Giant's Strength; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a Giant.
Lucio. That's well faid.
Ifab. Could great Men thunder
As Jove himfelf does, Jove would ne'er be quiet;
For every pelting petty Officer
Would ufe his Heav'n for Thunder;
Nothing but Thunder: Merciful Heav'n,
Thou rather with thy fharp and fulphurous Bolt
Split'ft the unwedgeable and gnarled Oak,
Than the foft Mirtle: O but Man! proud Man!
Dreft in a little brief Authority,
Moft ignorant of what he's moft affur'd,
His glaffie 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.
Pov. Pray Heaven the win him,'
Ifab. We cannot weigh our Brother with our felf: Great Men may jeft with Saints; 'tis Wit in them, But in the lefs foul Prophanation.
Lucio. Thou'rt i'right, Girl; more o'that.
Ifab. That in the Captain's but a cholerick Word, Which in the Soldier is flat Blafphemy.
Lucio. Art advis'd o'that? More on't.
Ang. Why do you put thefe Sayings upon me?
Ifab. Becaufe Authority, tho' it err like others,
Hath yet a kind of Medicine in it felf,
That skins 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 Guiltinefs, fuch as is his,
Let it not found a Thought upon your Tongue
Against my Brother's Life.
Ang. She fpeaks, and 'tis fuch Senfe,
That my Senfe breeds 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 myLord turn back.
Ang. How? Bribe me?
Jab. Ay, with fuch Gifts that Heav'n fhall fhare with yor.
Luc. You had marr'd all elfe.
Ifab. Not with fond Sickles of the tested Gold,
Or Stones, whofe Rate are either rich or poor,
As Fancy values them; but with true Prayers,
That shall be up at Heav'n, and enter there
E'er Sun rife: Prayers from preferved Souls,
From fafting Maids, whofe Minds are dedicate
To nothing Temporal.
Ang. Well; come to me to Morrow,
Lucio. Go to; 'tis well; away.
Ifab. Heav'n keep your Honour fafe.
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 Ifabella.
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? Ha?
Not fhe; nor doth fhe tempt; but it is I,
That, lying by the Violet in the Sun,
Do as the Carrion does, not as the Flower,
Corrupt with virtuous Season. Can it be,
That Modefty may more betray our Sense,
Than Woman's Lightnefs? Having wafte Ground enough,
Shall we defire to raze the San&uary,
And pitch our Evils there? Oh fie, fie, fie;
What doft thou? Or what art thou, Angelo?
Doft thou defire her fouly, for those things
That make her good? Oh let her Brother live:
Thieves for their Robbery have Authority,
When Judges fteal themfelves. What! do I Love her,
That I defire to hear her fpeak again?
And feaft upon her Eyes? What is it 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 Sin, in loving Virtue; never could the Strumpet,
With all her double Vigor, Art, and Nature,
Once ftir my Temper: But this virtuous Maid
Subdues me quite; even 'till now,
When Men were fond, I fmil'd, and wondred how. [Exit.
Enter Duke habited like a Friar, and Provost.
Duke. Hail to you, Provoft; fo I think you are.
Prov. I am the Provoft; what's you Will, 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 Crime, that I may minifter
To them accordingly.
Prov. I would do more than that, if more were needful.
Look here comes one; a Gentlewoman of mine,
Who falling in the Flaws of her own Youth,
Hath blifter'd her Report: She 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,
And you fhall be conducted.
Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the Sin you carry.
Juliet. I do, and bear the Shame most patiently.
Duke. I'll teach you how you fhall arraign your Confcience,
And try your Penitence, if it be found,
Or hollowly put on.
Juliet. I'll gladly learn.
Duke. Love you the Man that wrong'd you?
Juliet. Yes, as I love the Woman that wrong'd him.
Duke. So then it feems your moft offenceful A&
Was mutually committed.
Duke. Then was your Sin of heavier kind than his?
Juliet. I do confefs it, and repent it, Father.
Duke. 'Tis meet fo, Daughter; but left you
As that the Sin hath brought you to this Shame,