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Taste its shrewd coldness in your quaking selves ?
Back! back! I say. He hath his armor on-
I am his sword, shield, helm ; I but enclose
Myself, and my own heart, and heart's blood, when
I thus stand before him.

Da. False hearted cravens !
We are but two—my Pythias, my halved heart,
My Pythias, and myself; but dare come on,
Ye hirelings of a tyrant! dare advance
A foot, or raise an arm, or bend a bow,
And

ye

shall learn what two such arms can do
Amongst a thousand of ye. My good friend,
The gods have sent thee to me. Who had deemed
To find thee here from Agrigentum ?

[Soldiers advance.]
Pyth. Off off! villains, off!
Why, Procles,-art thou not ashamed-for I,
I have seen thee do good work in battle time-
Art thou not ashamed, here on a single man
To rush in coward numbers? Fie upon

thee! I took thee for a soldier.

Proc. For thy sake,
Who art a warrior like ourselves, we spare him.-
'Twas a good star of his that led thee hither
From Agrigentum, to lift up

thine arm
In the defence of that long robe of peace,
Wherein he wraps his stern philosophy.
Come, teach him better manners. Soldiers, on,
Let us to Dionysius. [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;
My better genius sent thee to my side,
When I did think thee far from Syracuse.

Pyth. I have won leave to spend some interval
From the fierce war, and come to Syracuse,
With purpose to espouse the fair Calanthe.-
The gods have led me hither, since I com
In țime to rescue thee.
How grew this rude broil up?

Da. Things go on here

Most execrably, Pythias. But you are come
To be a husband, are you not?

Pyth. Tomorrow, I call the fair Calanthe wife.

Da. Then, Pythias,
I will not shade the prospect of your joys
With any griefs of mine. I cry you mercy“
These are experiments too over-nice
For one that has a mistress, and would wed her
With an uncut throat. I have wished myself,
That to the blessed retreats of private life
My lot had been awarded; every hour
Makes one more sick and weary with the sense
Of this same hopeless service of a State,
Where there is not of virtue left
To feed the farings of our liberty.
But, my soldier,
I will not make thee a participant
In my most sad forebodings. Pythias,
I say 'twere better to be the Persian's slave,
And let him tread upon thee when he would
Ascend his horse's back, than-yet not so,
I am too much galled and fretted to pronounce
A sober judgment, and the very mask
Of freedom is yet better than the bold,
Uncover'd front of tyranny-Farewell!

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,
And most desire should meet the blow of justice,
For which I would not plead, but that I must;
For which I must not plead, but that I am
At war, 'twixt will, and will not.

Ang Well, the matter, the matter ?

Isab. I have a brother is condemn’d to die;
I do beseech you, let it be his fault,
And not my brother.

Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it!
Why, every fault's condemned, ere it be done;
Mine were the very cipher of a fraction,
To find the faults, whose fine stands in record,
And let go by the actor.

Isab. O just, but severe law!
I had a brother then. Heaven keep your honor! [Retiring.
Lucio. [To Isabella.] Give't not o'er so; to him again,

entreat him;
Kneel down before him; hang upon his gown;
You are too cold; if you should need a pin,
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,
The marshal's truncheons, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with half so good a grace,
As mercy does. If he had been as you,
And you as he, you would have slipt like him;
But he, like you. would not have been so stern

To him, I say.

Ang. Pray you begone.

Isab. I woald 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;
And He that might the 'vantage best have took,
Found out the remedy. How would you be,
If He who is the top of judgment, should
But judge you as you are ? O, think on that;
And mercy then will breathe within your lips,
Like man new made.

Ang. Be you content, fair maid ;
It is the law, not I, condemns your brother;
Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son,
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 you,
Who is it that hath died for this offence ?
There's many have committed it.

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
Are now to have no successive degrees;
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,

ich a dismissed offence would
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

Ifter gall;

And he, that suffers ! O, it is excellent
To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant.
Could great men thunder
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet;
For

every pelting petty officer
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!
Drest in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most assured,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven,
As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
Would all themselves laugh mortal..
We cannot weigh our brother with ourself;
Great men may jest with saints; 'tis wit in them;
But, in less, foul profanation.
That in the captain's but a choleric word,
Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me?
Isab. Because authority, though it err like others,
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself,
That skims the vice o' the 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
A natural guiltiness, such as is his,
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue,
Against my brother's life.
Ang. She speaks, and 'tis
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, As fancy values them; but with true prayers, That shall be up in heaven, and enter there,

Such

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