MARIANA.
Isabel,
Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me;
Hold up your hands, say nothing. I’ll speak all.
They say best men are moulded out of faults,
And, for the most, become much more the better
For being a little bad. So may my husband.
O Isabel, will you not lend a knee?
DUKE.
He dies for Claudio’s death.
ISABELLA.
[Kneeling.] Most bounteous sir,
Look, if it please you, on this man condemned
As if my brother lived. I partly think
A due sincerity governed his deeds
Till he did look on me. Since it is so,
Let him not die. My brother had but justice,
In that he did the thing for which he died.
For Angelo,
His act did not o’ertake his bad intent,
And must be buried but as an intent
That perished by the way. Thoughts are no subjects;
Intents but merely thoughts.
MARIANA.
Merely, my lord.
DUKE.
Your suit’s unprofitable. Stand up, I say.
I have bethought me of another fault.
Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded
At an unusual hour?
PROVOST.
It was commanded so.
DUKE.
Had you a special warrant for the deed?
PROVOST.
No, my good lord, it was by private message.
DUKE.
For which I do discharge you of your office.
Give up your keys.
PROVOST.
Pardon me, noble lord.
I thought it was a fault, but knew it not;
Yet did repent me after more advice.
For testimony whereof, one in the prison
That should by private order else have died,
I have reserved alive.