Under the temporary rule of Lord Angelo, Isabella’s brother, Claudio,
God save your honour!
Stay a little while.
You're welcome: what's your will?
I am a woeful suitor to your honour,
Please but your honour hear me.
Well; what's your suit?
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.
Well; the matter?
I have a brother is condemn'd to die:
I do beseech you, let it be his fault,
And not my brother.
[Aside] Heaven give thee moving graces!
Condemn the fault and not the actor of it?
Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done:
Mine were the very cipher of a function,
To fine the faults whose fine stands in record,
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