And mercy then will breathe within your lips,
Like man new made.
Ang.
Be you content, fair maid;
80 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] to-morrow.
Isab. To-morrow! O, that’s [sudden!] Spare him, spare him!
He’s not prepared for death. Even for our kitchens
85 We kill the fowl of season: [shall we serve] heaven