Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Isa. Oh faithlesse Coward, oh dishonest wretch,
Isa. Wilt thou be made a man, out of my vice?
Isa. Is't not a kinde of Incest, to take life
Isa. From thine owne sisters shame? What should I thinke,
Isa. Heauen shield my Mother plaid my Father faire:
Isa. For such a warped slip of wildernesse
Isa. Nere issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance,
Isa. Die, perish: Might but my bending downe
Isa. Repreeue thee from thy fate, it should proceede.
Isa. Ile pray a thousand praiers for thy death,
Isa. No word to saue thee.
Cla. Cla.
Cla. Nay heare me Isabell.
Isa. Isa.
Isa. Oh fie, fie, fie:
Isa. Thy sinn's not accidentall, but a Trade;
Isa. Mercie
Isa. Measure for Measure.
Isa. Mercy to thee would proue it selfe a Bawd,
Isa. 'Tis best that thou diest quickly.