Because authority, though it err like others,
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself
That skins the vice o' the top. Go to your bosom;
Knock there; and ask your heart what it doth know
That's like my brother's fault: if it confess
A natural guiltiness such as is his,
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue
Against my brother's life.

ANGELO.
She speaks, and 'tis
Such sense that my sense breeds with it.--
Fare you well.

ISABELLA.
Gentle my lord, turn back.

ANGELO.
I will bethink me:--Come again to-morrow.

ISABELLA.
Hark how I'll bribe you. Good my lord, turn back.

ANGELO.
How! bribe me?

ISABELLA.
Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you.

LUCIO.