Serv.
He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight:
I'll tell him of you.

Prov.
Pray you, do. [Exit. Servant.] I'll know
His pleasure; may be, he will relent: Alas,
He hath but as offended in a dream!
All sects, all ages smack of this vice; and he
To die for it!— Enter Angelo.

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

Prov.
Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow?

Ang.
Did I not tell thee, yea? hadst thou not order?
Why dost thou ask again?

Prov.
Lest I might be too rash:
Under your good correction, I have seen,
When, after execution, judgment hath
Repented o'er his doom.

Ang.
Go to; let that be mine:
Do you your office, or give up your place,
And you shall well be spar'd.

Prov.
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 fitting 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 sister-hood,
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;
There shall be order for it. Enter Lucio and Isabella.

Prov.
Save your honour!

Ang.
Stay yet a while^{1 note}.—[To Isab.] You are welcome: 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;

For which I must not plead, but that I am^{2 note}

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!
Why, every fault's condemn'd, ere it be done:
Mine were the very cypher of a function,
To find the faults,^{3 note} whose fine stands in record,
And let go by the actor.

Isab.
O just, but severe law!
I had a brother then.—Heaven keep your honour!

Lucio. [To Isab.]
Give't not o'er so: 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 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^{4 note}

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

Lucio.
You are too cold. [To Isabel.

Isabel.
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 sword,
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half so 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.

Isab.
I would to heaven I had your potency,
And you were Isabel! should it then be thus?
No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge,
And what a prisoner.

Lucio. [Aside.]
Ay, touch him: there's the vein.

Ang.
Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
And you but waste your words.

Isab.
Alas! alas!
Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once^{5 note};
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^{6 note}

Ang.
Be you content, fair maid;
It is the law, not I, condemns your brother:
Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son,
It should be thus with him;—he must die to-morrow.

Isab.
To-morrow? Oh, 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.

Ang.
The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept:
Those many had not dar'd to do that evil,
If the first man, that did the edict infringe^{7 note}
,
Had answer'd for his deed: now, 'tis awake;
Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet^{8 note}

Looks in a glass that shews what future evils,
(Either now^{9 note}
, or by remissness new-conceiv'd,
And so in progress to be hatch'd and born)
Are now to have no successive degrees,
But, ere they live, to end^{1 note}
. 9Q0168

Isab.
Yet shew some pity^{2 note}

.

Ang.
I shew it most of all, when I shew 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 satisfy'd;
Your brother dies to-morrow; be content.

Isab.
So you must be the first, that gives this sentence;
And he, that suffers: Oh, it is excellent
To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous,
To use it like a giant.

Lucio.
That's well said.

Isab.
Could great men thunder
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet,
For every pelting^{3 note}

Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak^{4 note}

Lucio.
Oh, to him, to him, wench: he will relent;
He's coming; I perceiv't.

Prov.
Pray heaven she win him!

Isab.
We cannot weigh our brother with ourself^{7 note}