CLAUDIO.
Nay, hear me, Isabel.

ISABELLA.
O fie, fie, fie!
Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade:
Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd:
'Tis best that thou diest quickly.

[Going.]

CLAUDIO.
O, hear me, Isabella.

[Re-enter DUKE.]

DUKE.
Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word.

ISABELLA.
What is your will?

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.

ISABELLA.
I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out of