Chapter 8 2.

25 Prov.

God save your honour!

Ang. Stay a little while. [To Isab.] You're welcome: what's your will?

Isab. I am a woeful 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,

30 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:

35 I do beseech you, let it be his fault,

And not my brother.

Prov. [Aside] 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 cipher of a function,

40 To fine 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!

Lucio. [Aside to Isab.] Give't not o'er so: to him again, entreat him;

Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown:

45 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,