ade.

_Ang._ Be you content, fair maid;
It is the law, not I condemn your brother: 80
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 prepared for death. Even for our kitchens
We kill the fowl of season: shall we serve heaven 85
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._ [_Aside to Isab._] Ay, well said.

_Ang._ The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept: 90
Those many had not dared to do that evil,
If the first that did the edict infringe
Had answer'd for his deed: now 'tis awake,
Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet,
Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils, 95
Either now, or by remissness new-conceived,
And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,
Are now to have no successive degrees,
But, ere they live, to end.

_Isab._ Yet show some pity.

_Ang._ I show it most of all when I show justice; 100
For then I pity those I do not know,
Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall;
And do him right that, answering one foul wrong.
Lives not to act another. Be satisfied;
Your brother dies to-morrow; be content. 105

_Isab._ So you must be the first that gives this sentence.
And he, that suffers. O, it is excellent
To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant.

_Lucio._ [_Aside to Isab._] That's well said.

_Isab._ Could great men thunder 110
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet,
For every pelting, petty officer
Would use his heaven for thunder.
Nothing but thunder! Merciful Heaven,
Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt 115
Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak
Than the soft myrtle: but man, proud man,
Drest in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most assured,
His glassy essence, like an angry ape, 120
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
Would all themselves laugh mortal.

_Lucio._ [_Aside to Isab._] O, to him, to him, wench!
he will relent;
He's coming; I perceive't.

_Prov._ [_Aside_]