If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse, Ang. He's fentenc'd; 'tis too late. Lucio. You are too cold. Ifab. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word, Not the King's crown, nor the deputed fword, Ifab. I wou'd to heav'n I had your potency, Lucio. Ay, touch him; there's the vein. Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, And you but wafte your words. Ifab. Alas! alas! Why, all the fouls that were, were forfeit once; Ang. Be you content, fair maid; It is the law, not I, condemns your brother. It fhould be thus with him; he dies to-morrow. (7) Well, believe this,] This manner of Pointing, which runs through all the Copies, gives an Air of Addrefs too familiar for an Inferior to ufe to a Perfon of Distinction. But taking away the Comma after, Well, not only removes the Objection, but reftores a Mode of Expreflion, which our Author delights to ufe Well believe this; i. e. Be convinc'd, be throughly affur'd of this. Ifab. To-morrow, Oh! that's fudden. Spare him, fpare him. He's not prepar'd for death: Even for our kitchens To our grofs felves? good, good my lord, bethink you: There's many have committed it. Lucio. Ay, well faid. Ang. The law hath not been dead, tho' it hath slept : Those many had not dar'd to do that evil, If the firft man, that did th' edict infringe, Had anfwer'd for his deed. Now, 'tis awake; Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet, Ifab. Yet fhew some pity. Ang. I fhew it most of all, when I fhew juftice; For then I pity thofe, I do not know; Which a difmifs'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. Ifab. So you must be the firft, that gives this sentence; And he, that fuffers: oh, 'tis excellent To have a giant's ftrength; but it is tyrannous, To ufe it like a giant. Lucio. That's well faid. Ifab. Could great men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet; Would ufe his heav'n for thunder; Nothing but thunder: merciful heav'n! Thou rather with thy fharp, and fulph'rous, bolt Than the foft myrtle: O, but man! proud man, Mot Moft ignorant of what he's most assur'd, Plays fuch fantaftick tricks before high heav'n, As makes the angels weep; who, with our spleens, Lucio. Oh, to him, to him, Wench; he will relent; He's coming: I perceivé't. Prov. Pray heav'n, fhe win him! Ifab. We cannot weigh our brother with yourself: (8) Great men may jeft with Saints; 'tis wit in them; But, in the lefs, foul prophanation. Lucio. Thou'rt right, girl; more o'that. Ifab. That in the captain's but a cholerick word, Which in the foldier is flat blafphemy. Lucio. Art avis'd o' that? more on't. Ang. Why do you put thefe sayings upon me? fab. Because authority, tho' it err like others, Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, That skins the vice o' th' top: go to your bofom; Knock there, and ask your heart, what it doth know That's like my brother's fault; if it confess A natural guiltinefs, fuch as is his, Let it not found a thought upon your tongue Ang. She fpeaks, and 'tis fuch fenfe, That my fenfe breeds with it. Fare you well. Ang. I will bethink me: come again to-morrow. (8) We cannot weigh our Brother with ourself.] Why not? Tho' this fhould be the Reading of all the Copies, 'tis as plain as light, it is not the Author's Meaning. Ijabella would fay, there is fo great a Difproportion 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. Ifab. Ay, with fuch gifts, that heav'n fhall share with you. Lucio. You had marr'd all elfe. Ifab. Not with fond fhekles of the tested gold, Ang. Well; come to-morrow. Lucio. Go too; 'tis well; away. Jab. Heav'n keep your Honour fafe! For I am that way going to temptation, Ifab. At what hour to-morrow Shall I attend your lordship? Ang. At any time 'fore noon. Tab. Save your Honour! [Exe. Lucio and Ifabella, Ang. From thee; even from thy virtue. What's this? what's this? is this her fault, or mine? The tempter, or the tempted, who fins moft? Not fhe; nor doth fhe tempt; but it is I, That, lying by the violet in the fun, Than woman's lightness having wafte ground enough, And pitch our evils there? oh, fie, fie, fie! That make her good? Oh, let her brother live: When judges fteal themselves. What do I love her, And feaft upon her eyes? what is't I dream on ? Is that temptation, that doth goad us on SCENE changes to a Prifon. Enter Duke habited like a Friar, and Provoft. H [Exit. Duke.TAIL to you, Provoft! fo, I think, you are. Prov. I am the Provoft; what's your will, good Friar? Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bleft Order, I come to vifit the afflicted spirits Here in the prison; do me the common right To let me fee them, and to make me know The nature of their crimes; that I may minifter To them accordingly. Prov. I would do more than that, if more were needful, Enter Juliet. Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine, Than die for this. Duke. When must he die ? Prov. As I do think, to-morrow. I have provided for you; ftay a while, And you fhall be conducted. [To Juliet. Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the fin you carry ♪ confcience, And |