Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Ang. Ang.
Ang. Your Brother is a forfeit of the Law,
Ang. And you but waste your words.
Isab. Isab.
Isab. Alas, alas:
Isab. Why all the soules that were, were forfeit once,
Isab. And he that might the vantage best haue tooke,
Isab. Found out the remedie: how would you be,
Isab. If he, which is the top of Iudgement, should
Isab. But iudge you, as you are? Oh, thinke on that,
Isab. And mercie then will breathe within your lips
Isab. Like man new made.
Ang. Be you content, (faire Maid)
Ang. It is the Law, not I, condemne your brother,
Ang. Were he my kinsman, brother, or my sonne,
Ang. It should be thus with him: he must die to morrow.
Isab. To morrow? oh, that's sodaine,
Isab. Spare him, spare him: