« PreviousContinue »
« Fust. I humbly thank you.
“ Escal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio; " But there's no remedy.
“ Just. Lord Angelo is severe.
“ Escal. It is but needful : “ Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so;
290 « Pardon is still the nurse of second woe : “ But yet, -Poor Claudio!--There's no remedy. " Come, sir.
" SCENE II.
6 Angelo's house.
Enter Provost, and a Servant.
“ 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, * Hè hatli but as offended in a dream ! « All sects, all ages smack of this vice; and he * To die for it.
6. Enter ANGELO.
“ Ang. Now, what's the matter, provost :”.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
rust. I humbly thank you. scal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio; there's no remedy. ust. Lord Angelo is severe. scal. It is but needful: cy is not itself, that oft looks so; ion is still the nurse of second woé : yet, Poor Claudio!“There's no remedy.
Prov. Lest I inight be too rash:
Ang. Go to; let that be mine:
Prov. I crave your honour's pardon.--
Ang. Dispose of her
[Re-enter Servant, ]
Ang. Hath he a sister ?
Prov. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid, And to be shortly of a sister-hood,
321 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."
" SCENE II.
GELO's house. Enter Provost, and a Servant.
v. He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight :
I him of you.
v. Pray you, do. [Exit Servant] I'll know easure ; may be, he will relent: Alas, th but as offended in a dream !
all ages smack of this vice; and he for it
300 .66 Enter ANGELO.
Enter Lucio and ISABELLA.
Prov. Save your honour!" Ang. Stay yet a while."-- [To ISAB..] You are welcome :: :: What's your will?
Now, what's the matter, provost ". sit your will Claudio should die to-morrow? id I not tell thee, yea? hadst thou not rder? thou ask again ?
Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, Please but your honour hear me.
330 Ang. Well; what's your suit ?
Isab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor,
Ang. Well; the matter?
Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die:
340 Prov. Heaven give thee moving graces!
Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it!
Isab. O just, but severe law!
intreat him ;
Isab. Must he needs die ?
Isab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him,
Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, 'lease but your honour hear me.
330 Ang. Well; what's your
suit? Isab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor, nd most desire should meet the blow of justice; ir which I would not plead, but that I must; r which I must not plead, but that I am war, 'twixt will, and will not. Ing. Well; the matter? ab. I have a brother is condemn’d to die: beseech you, let it be his fault, not my brother.
340 ov. Heaven give thee moving graces! 5. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it! , every fault's condemn'd, ere it be done: were
very cypher of a function, d the faults, whose fine stands in record; it go by the actor. O just, but severe law ! brother then.—Heaven keep your honour.
[ To ISAB.] Giv't not o'er so: to him again, intreat him; own before him; hang upon his gown; 350 too cold: if you should need a pin, ld not with more tame a tongue desire it:
say, lust he needs die? laiden, no remedy. 2s; I do think that you might pardon him, er heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy.
wrong, If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse As mine is to him?
Ang. He's sentenc'd ; 'tis too late. “ Lucio, You are too cold. [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, 370 Become them with one half so good a grace, As mercy does. If he had beer 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 ?
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,
you but waste your words.
Found out the remedy: How would you be,
; “ 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:
Lucio. Ay, well said.