DUKE. You do but lose your labour. Away with him to death. [_To Lucio_.] Now, sir, to you. MARIANA. O my good lord.—Sweet Isabel, take my part; Lend me your knees, and all my life to come I’ll lend you all my life to do you service. DUKE. Against all sense you do importune her. Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact, Her brother’s ghost his paved bed would break, And take her hence in horror. MARIANA. Isabel, Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me; Hold up your hands, say nothing. I’ll speak all. They say best men are moulded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad. So may my husband. O Isabel, will you not lend a knee? DUKE. He dies for Claudio’s death. ISABELLA. [_Kneeling_.] Most bounteous sir, Look, if it please you, on this man condemned As if my brother lived. I partly think A due sincerity governed his deeds Till he did look on me. Since it is so, Let him not die. My brother had but justice, In that he did the thing for which he died. For Angelo, His act did not o’ertake his bad intent, And must be buried but as an intent That perished by the way. Thoughts are no subjects; Intents but merely thoughts. MARIANA. Merely, my lord. DUKE. Your suit’s unprofitable. Stand up, I say. I have bethought me of another fault. Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded At an unusual hour? PROVOST. It was commanded so. DUKE. Had you a special warrant for the deed? PROVOST. No, my good lord, it was by private message. DUKE. For which I do discharge you of your office. Give up your keys. PROVOST. Pardon me, noble lord. I thought it was a fault, but knew it not; Yet did repent me after more advice. For testimony whereof, one in the prison That should by private order else have died, I have reserved alive. DUKE. What’s he? PROVOST. His name is Barnardine. DUKE. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio. Go fetch him hither, let me look upon him. [_Exit Provost._] ESCALUS. I am sorry one so learned and so wise As you, Lord Angelo, have still appeared, Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood And lack of tempered judgement afterward. ANGELO. I am sorry that such sorrow I procure, And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart That I crave death more willingly than mercy; ’Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it. Enter Provost with Barnardine, Claudio (muffled) and Juliet. DUKE. Which is that Barnardine? PROVOST. This, my lord. DUKE. There was a friar told me of this man. Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul That apprehends no further than this world, And squar’st thy life according. Thou’rt condemned; But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all, And pray thee take this mercy to provide For better times to come. Friar, advise him; I leave him to your hand.—What muffled fellow’s that? PROVOST. This is another prisoner that I saved, Who should have died when Claudio lost his head; As like almost to Claudio as himself. [_Unmuffles Claudio._]