Isab. That in the Captaine's but a chollericke word, Which in the Souldier is flat blasphemie Luc. Art auis'd o'that? more on't Ang. Why doe you put these sayings vpon me? Isab. Because Authoritie, though it erre like others, Hath yet a kinde of medicine in it selfe That skins the vice o'th top; goe to your bosome, Knock there, and aske your heart what it doth know That's like my brothers fault: if it confesse A naturall guiltinesse, such as is his, Let it not sound a thought vpon your tongue Against my brothers life Ang. Shee speakes, and 'tis such sence That my Sence breeds with it; fare you well Isab. Gentle my Lord, turne backe Ang. I will bethinke me: come againe to morrow Isa. Hark, how Ile bribe you: good my Lord turn back Ang. How? bribe me? Is. I, with such gifts that heauen shall share with you Luc. You had mar'd all else Isab. Not with fond Sickles of the tested-gold, Or Stones, whose rate are either rich, or poore As fancie values them: but with true prayers, That shall be vp at heauen, and enter there Ere Sunne rise: prayers from preserued soules, From fasting Maides, whose mindes are dedicate To nothing temporall Ang. Well: come to me to morrow Luc. Goe to: 'tis well; away Isab. Heauen keepe your honour safe Ang. Amen. For I am that way going to temptation, Where prayers crosse Isab. At what hower to morrow, Shall I attend your Lordship? Ang. At any time 'fore-noone Isab. 'Saue your Honour Ang. From thee: euen from thy vertue. What's this? what's this? is this her fault, or mine? The Tempter, or the Tempted, who sins most? ha? Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I, That, lying by the Violet in the Sunne, Doe as the Carrion do's, not as the flowre, Corrupt with vertuous season: Can it be, That Modesty may more betray our Sence Then womans lightnesse? hauing waste ground enough, Shall we desire to raze the Sanctuary And pitch our euils there? oh fie, fie, fie: What dost thou? or what art thou Angelo? Dost thou desire her fowly, for those things That make her good? oh, let her brother liue: Theeues for their robbery haue authority, When Iudges steale themselues: what, doe I loue her, That I desire to heare her speake againe? And feast vpon her eyes? what is't I dreame on? Oh cunning enemy, that to catch a Saint, With Saints dost bait thy hooke: most dangerous Is that temptation, that doth goad vs on To sinne, in louing vertue: neuer could the Strumpet With all her double vigor, Art, and Nature Once stir my temper: but this vertuous Maid Subdues me quite: Euer till now When men were fond, I smild, and wondred how. Enter. Scena Tertia. Enter Duke and Prouost. Duke. Haile to you, Prouost, so I thinke you are