Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Isab. And neither heauen, nor man grieue at the mercy.
Ang. Ang.
Ang. I will not doe't.
Isab. Isab.
Isab. But can you if you would?
Ang. Looke what I will not, that I cannot doe.
Isab. But might you doe't & do the world no wrong
Isab. If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse,
Isab. As mine is to him?
Ang. Hee's sentenc'd, tis too late.
Luc. Luc.
Luc. You are too cold.
Isab. Too late? why no: I that doe speak a word
Isab. May call it againe: well, beleeue this
Isab. No ceremony that to great ones longs,
Isab. Not the Kings Crowne; nor the deputed sword,