Page 1122 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

Would all themselves laugh mortal.

LUCIO
[to Isabella]
O, to him, to him, wench! He will relent; [125]
He’s coming: I perceive’t.

PROVOST
[aside]

Pray heaven she win him.

ISABELLA
We cannot weigh our brother with ourself.
Great men may jest with saints: ’tis wit in them,
But in the less, foul profanation.

LUCIO
[to Isabella]

Thou’rt i’th’right, girl; more o’ that. [130]

ISABELLA
That in the captain’s but a choleric word,
Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

LUCIO
[to Isabella]
Art avis’d o’ that? More on ’t.

ANGELO
Why do you put these sayings upon me?

ISABELLA
Because authority, though it err like others, [135]
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself
That skins the vice o’th’top. Go to your bosom,
Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know

That’s like my brother’s fault. If it confess