Taste its shrewd coldness in your quaking selves? Da. False hearted cravens! We are but two-my Pythias, my halved heart- A foot, or raise an arm, or bend a bow, To find thee here from Agrigentum ? Pyth. Off! off! villains, off! Why, Procles,-art thou not ashamed-for I, Proc. For thy sake, Who art a warrior like ourselves, we spare him.- Soldiers, on, [Exit Procles and Soldiers. Pyth. (To Damon.) Art thou safe From these infuriate stabbers? Da. Thanks to thee, I am safe, my gallant soldier, and fast friend; Pyth. I have won leave to spend some interval How grew this rude broil up? Most execrably, Pythias. But you are come Pyth. To-morrow, I call the fair Calanthe wife. I will not shade the prospect of your joys For one that has a mistress, and would wed her To feed the flarings of our liberty. I will not make thee a participant Of freedom is yet better than the bold, Dionysius, king of Sicily, was a tyrant. He reigned over the island of Sicily forty years, and died 336 years before Christ. One great reason why he was unhappy in the midst of all the treasures and honors, with which royalty furnished him, arises from the consideration, that he was a stranger to that purity of motive, which created the disinterested and undying friendship, that subsisted between Damon and Pythias. The tyrant believed that self-interest is the sole mover of human actions, until he was taught better, by witnessing this example of sacred and immortal friendship. 94. ISABELLA, PLEADING BEFORE ANGELO.-Shakspeare. ANGELO, ISABELLA and LUCIO. Isabellu. I am a woful suitor to your honor; Please but your honor hear me. Angelo. Well; what's your suit? Isab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor, Ang Well, the matter, the matter? And not my brother. Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it! To find the faults, whose fine stands in record, Isab. O just, but severe law! I had a brother then. Lucio. [To Isabella.] entreat him; Heaven keep your honor! [Retiring. Kneel down before him; hang upon his gown; You could not with more tame a tongue desire it; Isab. [To Angelo.] Must he needs die? Ang. Maiden, no remedy. Isab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him, And neither heaven nor man, grieve at the mercy. Ang. I will not do't. Isab. But can you, if you would? Ang. Look; what I will not, that I cannot do. Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong, If so, your heart were touched with that remorse As mine is to him? Ang. He's sentenced; 'tis too late. Isab. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word, May call it back again. Well, believe this,— No ceremony that to great one 'longs, Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, Ang. Pray you begone. Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency, And you were Isabel! should it then be thus ? No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, And what a prisoner. Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, And you but waste your words. Isab. Alas! alas! Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once; Ang. Be you content, fair maid; It is the law, not I, condemns your brother; It should be thus with him. He must die to-morrow. Isab. To-morrow? O, that's sudden? Spare him, spare him: He's not prepared for death! Even for our kitchens We kill the fowl of season; shall we serve heaven With less respect than we do minister To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink There's many have committed it. you, Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept; Those many had not dar'd to do that evil, If the first man that did the edict infringe, Had answer'd for his deed: now, 'tis awake; Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet, Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils But, where they live, to end. Isab. Yet show some pity. Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice; For then I pity those I do not know, Which a dismissed offence would after gall; And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong, Lives not to act another. Be satisfied; Your brother dies to-morrow,-be content. Isab. So you must be the first that gives this sentence And he, that suffers! O, it is excellent To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous Could great men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet; Would use his heaven for thunder; nothing but thunder. Merciful heaven! Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, Than the soft myrtle: O, but man, proud man! Most ignorant of what he's most assured, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, We cannot weigh our brother with ourself; That in the captain's but a choleric word, Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me? That skims the vice o' the top. Go to your bosom; A natural guiltiness, such as is his, Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue, Ang. She speaks, and 'tis Such sense, that my sense breeds with it.-Fare you well. Isab. Gentle, my lord, turn back. Ang. I will bethink me. Come again to-morrow. Isab. Hark, how I'll bribe you! Good, my lord, turn back. Ang. How! bribe me? Isab. Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall share with you, Not with fond shekels of the tested gold, Or stones, whose rates are either rich or poor, |