prompture

To whom should I complain ? Did I tell this ,
Who would believe me ? O , perilous mouths ,
That bear in them one and the selfsame tongue ,
Either of condemnation or approof ,
Bidding the law make curtsy to their will ,
Hooking both right and wrong to th’ appetite ,
To follow as it draws . I’ll to my brother .
Though he hath fall’n by prompture of the blood ,
Yet hath he in him such a mind of honor
That , had he twenty heads to tender down
On twenty bloody blocks , he’d yield them up
Before his sister should her body stoop
To such abhorred pollution .
Then , Isabel , live chaste , and , brother , die .
More than our brother is our chastity .
I’ll tell him yet of Angelo’s request ,
And fit his mind to death , for his soul’s rest .