LUCIO.
[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 touched with that remorse
As mine is to him?
ANGELO.
He’s sentenced, ’tis too late.
LUCIO.
[To Isabella.] You are too cold.