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For which I must not plead, but that I am
Well; the matter?
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, 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 !
[Retiring. Lucio. [To Isab.] Give't not o'er so: to him again,
Isab. Must he needs die ?
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.
But can you, if you would ?
If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse
He's sentenc'd; 'tis too late.
[To Isabella. Isab. 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, begone.
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. Ay, touch him: there's the vein. [Aside.
Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
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? O, that's sudden! Spare him,
He's not prepar'd for death! Even for our kitchens
Ay, well said.
slept : Those many
had not dar'd to do that evil,
Yet show some pity.