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.

Do you your office, or give up your place,

And you shall well be spared.

Go to; let that be mine:

I crave your honour's pardon.

Dispose of her

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

Ang.

To some more fitter 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 sisterhood,

If not already.

Ang.

Well, let her be admitted.

[Exit Servant.

See you the fornicatress be removed.

Let her have needful, but not lavish, means;

There shall be order for it.

Enter LUCIO and ISABELLA.

Prov. Save your honour?

[Offering to retire.

Ang. Stay a little while.-[To ISAB.] You are wel

come. What's your will?

Isab. I am a woful 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

At war 'twixt will and will not.

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 condemned 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.

Isab.
Oh, 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,

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.

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

As mine is to him?

Ang.

He's sentenced; 'tis too late.

[To ISABELLA.

Lucio. You are too cold.
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

PLATE 3

ISABELLA AT THE NUNNERY

Measure for Measure, act i., scene v.