_Mari._ Isabel, Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me; 435 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? 440 _Duke._ He dies for Claudio's death. _Isab._ Most bounteous sir, [_Kneeling._ Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd, As if my brother lived: I partly think A due sincerity govern'd his deeds, Till he did look on me: since it is so, 445 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 450 That perish'd by the way: thoughts are no subjects; Intents, but merely thoughts. _Mari._ 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 455 At an unusual hour? _Prov._ It was commanded so. _Duke._ Had you a special warrant for the deed? _Prov._ No, my good lord; it was by private message. _Duke._ For which I do discharge you of your office: Give up your keys. _Prov._ Pardon me, noble lord: 460 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? _Prov._ His name is Barnardine. 465 _Duke._ I would thou hadst done so by Claudio. Go fetch him hither; let me look upon him. [_Exit Provost._ _Escal._ I am sorry, one so learned and so wise As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear'd, Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood, 470 And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. _Ang._ 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. 475 _Re-enter PROVOST, with BARNARDINE, CLAUDIO muffled, and JULIET._ _Duke._ Which is that Barnardine? _Prov._ 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 squarest thy life according. Thou'rt condemn'd: 480 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?