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a very virtuous maid,

       And to be shortly of a sisterhood,

       If not already.

       ANGELO.

       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.]

       PROVOST.

       [Offering to retire.] Save your honour!

       ANGELO. Stay a little while.— [To ISABELLA.] You are welcome. What’s your will?

       ISABELLA.

       I am a woeful suitor to your honour,

       Please but your honour hear me.

       ANGELO.

       Well; what’s your suit?

       ISABELLA.

       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

       At war ‘twixt will and will not.

       ANGELO.

       Well; the matter?

       ISABELLA.

       I have a brother is condemn’d to die;

       I do beseech you, let it be his fault,

       And not my brother.

       PROVOST.

       Heaven give thee moving graces.

       ANGELO.

       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 find the faults whose fine stands in record,

       And let go by the actor.

       ISABELLA.

       O just but severe law!

       I had a brother, then.—Heaven keep your honour!

       [Retiring.]

       LUCIO.

       [To ISABELLA.] Give’t not o’er so: to him again, entreat 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.

       ISABELLA.

       Must he needs die?

       ANGELO.

       Maiden, no remedy.

       ISABELLA.

       Yes; I do think that you might pardon him,

       And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy.

       ANGELO.

       I will not do’t.

       ISABELLA.

       But can you, if you would?

       ANGELO.

       Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.

       ISABELLA.

       But might you do’t, and do the world no wrong,

       If so your heart were touch’d with that remorse

       As mine is to him?

       ANGELO.

       He’s sentenc’d; ‘tis too late.

       LUCIO.

       [To ISABELLA.] You are too cold.

       ISABELLA.

       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 slipp’d like him;

       But he, like you, would not have been so stern.

       ANGELO.

       Pray you, be gone.

       ISABELLA.

       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.

       ANGELO.

       Your brother is a forfeit of the law,

       And you but waste your words.

       ISABELLA.

       Alas! alas!

       Why, all the souls 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, should

       But judge you as you are? O, think on that;

       And mercy then will breathe within your lips,

       Like man new made.

       ANGELO.

       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 tomorrow.

       ISABELLA.

       Tomorrow! O, that’s sudden! Spare him, spare him!

       He’s not prepared 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.

       ANGELO.

       The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept:

       Those many had not dared to do that evil

       If the first that did the edict infringe

       Had answer’d for his deed: now ‘tis awake;

       Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet,

       Looks in a glass that shows what future evils,—

       Either now, or by remissness new conceiv’d,

       And so in progress to be hatch’d and born,—

       Are now to have no successive degrees,

       But, where they live, to end.

       ISABELLA.

       Yet show some pity.

       ANGELO.

       I show it most of all when I show 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,

      

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