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.
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 slipped like him, but he like you
Would not have been so stern.
ANGELO.
Pray you be gone.