_Isab._ O, were it but my life, I'ld throw it down for your deliverance As frankly as a pin. _Claud._ Thanks, dear Isabel. _Isab._ Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. _Claud._ Yes. Has he affections in him, 105 That thus can make him bite the law by the nose, When he would force it? Sure, it is no sin; Or of the deadly seven it is the least. _Isab._ Which is the least? _Claud._ If it were damnable, he being so wise, 110 Why would he for the momentary trick Be perdurably fined?--O Isabel! _Isab._ What says my brother? _Claud._ Death is a fearful thing. _Isab._ And shamed life a hateful. _Claud._ Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; 115 To lie in cold obstruction and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice; 120 To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendent world; or to be worse than worst Of those that lawless and incertain thought Imagine howling:--'tis too horrible! 125 The weariest and most loathed worldly life That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment Can lay on nature is a paradise To what we fear of death. _Isab._ Alas, alas! _Claud._ Sweet sister, let me live: 130 What sin you do to save a brother's life, Nature dispenses with the deed so far That it becomes a virtue. _Isab._ O you beast! O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch! Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice? 135 Is't not a kind of incest, to take life From thine own sister's shame? What should I think? Heaven shield my mother play'd my father fair! For such a warped slip of wilderness Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance! 140 Die, perish! Might but my bending down Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed: I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, No word to save thee. _Claud._ Nay, hear me, Isabel. _Isab._ O, fie, fie, fie! 145 Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade. Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd: 'Tis best that thou diest quickly. _Claud._ O, hear me, Isabella! _Re-enter DUKE._ _Duke._ Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word. _Isab._ What is your will? 150 _Duke._ Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have some speech with you: the satisfaction I would require is likewise your own benefit. _Isab._ I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile. 155 [_Walks apart._