Whip me? No, no; let carman whip his jade ; [Exit. Escal. Come hither to me, master Elbow; come hither, master Constable. How long have you been in this place of constable? Elb. Seven year and a half, sir. Escal. I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had continued in it some time: You say, seven years together? Elb. And a half, sir. Escal. Alas! it hath been great pains to you! They do you wrong to put you so oft upon't: Are there not men in your ward sufficient to serve it? Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters: as they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I do it for some piece of money, and go through with all. Escal. Look you, bring me in the names of some six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish. Elb. To your worship's house, sir? Escal. To my house: Fare you well. [Exit ELBOW.] What's o'clock, think you' Just. Eleven, sir. Escal. I pray you home to dinner with me. Just. 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; [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Another room in the same. 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 All sects, all ages smack of this vice; and he Ang. Enter ANGElo. Now, what's the matter, provost ? Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow?, 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, Ang. Go to; let that be mine: I crave your honour's pardon.— Do you your office, or give up your place, Prov. Ang. Dispose of her 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. 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! [Offering to retire. Ang. Stay a little while.-[To ISAB.] You are wel come: What's your will? Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, Please but your honour hear me. Well; what's your suit? Ang. 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 condemn'd, ere it be done : Mine were the very cipher of a function, To find the faults, whose fine stands in record, Isab. O 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, 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 desire it: 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 sentenc'd; 'tis too late. Lucio. You are too cold. [TO ISABELLA. Isab. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word, And you as he, you would have slipt like him; Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency, Lucio. Ay, touch him: there's the vein. {Aside Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law And you but waste your words. Alas! alas! Isab. Ang. 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 to-morrow. Isab. To-morrow? O, that's sudden! Spare him spare him: 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: Who is it that hath died for this offence? There's many have committed it. Lucio. Ay, well said. Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept: Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet, |