It is no sinne at all, but charitie

Ang. Pleas'd you to doo't, at perill of your soule
Were equall poize of sinne, and charitie

Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sinne
Heauen let me beare it: you granting of my suit,
If that be sin, Ile make it my Morne-praier,
To haue it added to the faults of mine,
And nothing of your answere

Ang. Nay, but heare me,
Your sence pursues not mine: either you are ignorant,
Or seeme so crafty; and that's not good

Isab. Let be ignorant, and in nothing good,
But graciously to know I am no better

Ang. Thus wisdome wishes to appeare most bright,
When it doth taxe it selfe: As these blacke Masques
Proclaime an en-shield beauty ten times louder
Then beauty could displaied: But marke me,
To be receiued plaine, Ile speake more grosse:
Your Brother is to dye

Isab. So

Ang. And his offence is so, as it appeares,
Accountant to the Law, vpon that paine