Just. I humbly thank you.

Efcal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio:

But there's no remedy.

Just. Lord Angelo is severe.

Efcal. It is but needful :

Mercy is not it self, that oft looks so;
Pardon is still the nurse of second woe:
But yet, poor Claudio! there's no remedy.
Come, Sir.

Enter Provost, and a Servant.

[Exeunt.

Serv. He's hearing of a Cause; he will come straight:

I'll tell him of you.

Prov. Pray you, do; I'll know

His pleasure; may be, he'll 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 not I tell thee, yea? hadst thou not order?

Why doft 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 pardon.

What shall be done, Sir, with the groaning Juliet?
She's very near her hour.

Ang. Dispose of her

To fome more fitting place, and that with speed.
Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd,

Defires 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.

See you, the fornicatress be remov'd;

[Exit Servant.

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. - Y'are welcome; what's

your Will?

Ifab. I am a woful suitor to your Honour,

Please but your Honour hear me.

Ang. Well; what's your suit?

Ifab. There is a vice that most I do abhor, And most defire 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.

Ang. Well; the matter?

Ifab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die;

I do beseech you, let it be his fault,
And not my brother.

Prov. Heav'n 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 cipher of a function,
To find the faults, whose fine stands in record,
And let go by the actor.

ول

Isab. O just, but severe law! I had a brother then; - heav'n keep your Honour! Lucio. Give 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 defire 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 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.
Isab. 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?

Ang. He's sentenc'd, 'tis too late.
Lucio. You are too cold.

Ifab. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word,
May call it back again: Well believe this, (9)
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 flipt like him;
But he, like you, would not have been so stern.

Ang. Pray you, be gone.

Isab. I wou'd to heav'n 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.

(9) Well, believe this,] This manner of Pointing, which runs thro' all the Copies, gives an Air of Address too familiar for an Inferior to use to a Person of Distinction. But taking away the Comma after, Well, not only removes the Objection, but restores a Mode of Expreffion, which our Author delights to use. Well believe this; i. e. Be convinc'd, be throughly assur'd of this.

So, afterwards, in this Play, Angelo says;

I think it well.

So, Gonzalo, in the Tempest.

I do well believe your Highness,

And so, in King John;

And well shall you perceive

So one of the Gentlemen in the opening Scene of Cymbeline;

I do well believe.

And so Pifanio, in the same Play;

You shall be miss'd at Court;

1

And that will well confirm it.

&c. &c.

Ang.

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

Ifab. Alas! alas!

Why, all the fouls 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? 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 kinsman, brother, or my fon,
It should be thus with him, he dies to morrow.

Isab. To morrow? oh! that's sudden. Spare him, spare him.

He's not prepar'd for death: Even for our kitchins
We kill the fowl, of season, shall we serve heav'n
With less respect, than we do minifter

To our gross selves? 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 sleptt

Those many had not dar'd to do that evil,
If the first man, that did th' 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 shews what future evils,
Or new, or by remissness new conceiv'd,
And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,
Are now to have no successive degrees;

But here they live, to end.

Ifab. Yet thew some pity.

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 gaul;

And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong,

Lives not to act another. Be fatisfy'd;

Your brother dies to morrow; be content.

Isab. So you must be the first, that gives this sen

tence;

And he, that suffers: oh, 'tis excellent

To have a Giant's strength; but it is tyrannnous,
To use it like a Giant.

Lucio. That's well faid.

Ifab. Could Great men thunder

As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet;
For every pelting, petty, officer
Would use his heav'n for thunder;
Nothing but thunder: merciful heav'n!
Thou rather with thy sharp, and fulph'rous, bolt
Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak,
Than the foft myrtle: O, but man! proud man,
Dreft in a little brief authority,

Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,
His glafly essence, like an angry ape,

Plays such fantastick tricks before high heav'n,
As makes the angels weep; who, with our spleens, (10)
Would all themfelves laugh mortal.

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

Prov. Pray heav'n, the win him!

Ifab. We cannot weigh our brother with your self: (11) Great men may jest with Saints; 'tis wit in them; But, in the less, foul prophanation.

(10) As makes the Angels weep; who, with our fpleens,

Would all themselves laugh mortal.] Men play such fantastick Tricks, and appear so ridiculous, as to make the Angels weep in Compaffion of our Extravagance: who, if they were endued with our Spleens and perishable Organs, would laugh themselves out of Immortality; or, as we say in common Life, laugh themselves dead. This Notion of the Angels weeping for the Sins of Men is purely Rabbinical. -Ob peccatum flentes Angelos inducunt Hebræorum Magistri. - Grotius ad S. Lucam, c. 15. V. 7.

(11) We cannot weigh our Brother with our felf.] Why not? Tho' this should be the Reading of all the Copies, 'tis as plain as Light, it is not the Author's Meaning. Ifabella would fay, there is fo great a Dif proportion in Quality betwixt Lord Angelo and her Brother, that their Actions can bear no Comparison, or Equality, together: but her Brother's Crimes would be aggravated, Angelo's Frailties extenuated, from the Difference of their Degrees and State of Life. Mr. Warburton.