Another room in the same. Enter Provost and a Servant Servant He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight I'll tell him of you. Provost Pray you, do.
Exit Servant I'll know His pleasure; may be he will relent. Alas, He hath but as offended in a dream!
All sects, all ages smack of this vice; and he To die for't!
Enter ANGELO ANGELO Now, what's the matter. Provost? Provost Is it your will Claudio shall die tomorrow? ANGELO Did not I tell thee yea? hadst thou not order?
Why dost thou ask again? Provost Lest I might be too rash:
Under your good correction, I have seen, When, after execution, judgment hath Repented o'er his doom. ANGELO Go to; let that be mine:
Do you your office, or give up your place, And you shall well be spared. Provost I crave your honour's pardon.
What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet?
She's very near her hour. ANGELO Dispose of her To some more fitter place, and that with speed.
Re-enter Servant Servant Here is the sister of the man condemn'd Desires access to you. ANGELO Hath he a sister? Provost Ay, my good lord; 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 removed:
Let have needful, but not lavish, means;There shall be order for't.
Enter ISABELLA and LUCIO Provost God save your honour! ANGELO Stay a little while.
To ISABELLA
You're 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 [Aside] 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 fine 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! LUCIO [Aside 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 A s mine is to him? ANGELO He's sentenced; 'tis too late. LUCIO [Aside 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 slipt 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 to ISABELLA]
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 condemn your brother:
Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, It should be thus with him: he must die tomorrow. ISABELLA To-morrow! 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?