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What's he? Fran. de Med. A lawyer that pleads against you. Vit. Cor. Pray, my lord, let him speak his usual tongue; I'll make no answer else. Fran. de Med. Why, you understand Latin. Vit. Cor. I do, sir; but amongst this auditory Which come to hear my cause, the half or more May be ignorant in't. Mont. Go on, sir. Vit. Cor. By your favour, I will not have my accusation clouded In a strange tongue; all this assembly Shall hear what you can charge me with. Fran. de Med. Signior, You need not stand on't much; pray, change your language. Mont. O, for God sake!—Gentlewoman, your credit Shall be more famous by it. Law. Well, then, have at you! Vit. Cor. I am at the mark, sir: I'll give aim to you, And tell you how near you shoot. Law. Most literated judges, please your lordships So to connive your judgments to the view Of this debauched and diversivolent woman; Who such a black concatenation Of mischief hath effected, that to extirp The memory of't, must be the consummation Of her and her projections— Vit. Cor. What's all this? Law. Hold your peace: Exorbitant sins must have exulceration. Vit. Cor. Surely, my lords, this lawyer here hath swallowed Some pothecaries' bills, or proclamations; And now the hard and undigestible words Come up, like stones we use give hawks for physic; Why, this is Welsh to Latin. Law. My lords, the woman Knows not her tropes nor figures, nor is perfect In the academic derivation Of grammatical elocution. Fran. de Med. Sir, your pains Shall be well spared, and your deep eloquence Be worthily applauded amongst those Which understand you. Law. My good lord— Fran. de Med. Sir, Put up your papers in your fustian bag— [Francisco speaks this as in scorn. Cry mercy, sir, 'tis buckram—and accept My notion of your learned verbosity. Law. I most graduatically thank your lordship: I shall have use for them elsewhere. Mont. I shall be plainer with you, and paint out Your follies in more natural red and white Than that upon your cheek. [To Vittoria. Vit. Cor. O you mistake: You raise a blood as noble in this cheek As ever was your mother's. Mont. I must spare you, till proof cry "whore" to that.— Observe this creature here, my honoured lords, A woman of a most prodigious spirit, In her effected. Vit. Cor. Honourable my lord, It doth not suit a reverend cardinal To play the lawyer thus. Mont. O, your trade instructs your language.— You see, my lords, what goodly fruit she seems; Yet, like those apples[47] travellers report To grow where Sodom and Gomorrah stood, I will but touch her, and you straight shall see She'll fall to soot and ashes. Vit. Cor. Your envenomed Pothecary should do't. Mont. I am resolved,[48] Were there a second Paradise to lose, This devil would betray it. Vit. Cor. O poor charity! Thou art seldom found in scarlet. Mont. Who knows not how, when several night by night Her gates were choked with coaches, and her rooms Outbraved the stars with several kind of lights; When she did counterfeit a prince's court In music, banquets, and most riotous surfeits? This whore, forsooth, was holy. Vit. Cor. Ha! whore! what's that! Mont. Shall I expound whore to you? sure, I shall; I'll give their perfect character. They are first, Sweetmeats which rot the eater; in man's nostrils Poisoned perfumes: they are cozening alchemy; Shipwrecks in calmest weather. What are whores! Cold Russian winters, that appear so barren As if that nature had forgot the spring: They are the true material fire of hell: Worse than those tributes i' the Low Countries paid, Exactions upon meat, drink, garments, sleep, Ay, even on man's perdition, his sin: They are those brittle evidences of law Which forfeit all a wretched man's estate For leaving out one syllable. What are whores! They are those flattering bells have all one tune, At weddings and at funerals. Your rich whores Are only treasuries by extortion filled, And emptied by cursed riot. They are worse, Worse than dead bodies which are begged at gallows, And wrought upon by surgeons, to teach man Wherein he is imperfect. What's a whore! She's like the guilty counterfeited coin Which, whosoe'er first stamps it, brings in trouble All that receive it. Vit. Cor. This character scapes me. Mont. You, gentlewoman! Take from all beasts and from all minerals Their deadly poison— Vit. Cor. Well, what then? Mont. I'll tell thee; I'll find in thee a pothecary's shop, To sample them all. Fr. Am. She hath lived ill. Eng. Am. True; but the cardinal's too bitter. Mont. You know what whore is. Next the devil adultery, Enters the devil murder. Fran. de Med. Your unhappy Husband is dead. Vit. Cor. O, he's a happy husband: Now he owes nature nothing. Fran. de Med. And by a vaulting-engine. Mont. An active plot; he jumped into his grave. Fran. de Med. What a prodigy was't That from some two yards' height a slender man Should break his neck! Mont. I' the rushes![49] Fran. de Med. And what's more, Upon the instant lose all use of speech, All vital motion, like a man had lain Wound up three days. Now mark each circumstance. Mont. And look upon this creature was his wife. She comes not like a widow; she comes armed With scorn and impudence: is this a mourning-habit? Vit. Cor. Had I foreknown his death, as you suggest, I would have bespoke my mourning. Mont. O, you are cunning. Vit. Cor. You shame your wit and judgment, To call it so. What! is my just defence By him that is my judge called impudence? Let me appeal, then, from this Christian court To the uncivil Tartar. Mont. See, my lords, She scandals our proceedings. Vit. Cor. Humbly thus, Thus low, to the most worthy and respected Lieger ambassadors, my modesty And womanhood I tender; but withal, So entangled in a cursèd accusation, That my defence, of force, like Perseus,[50] Must personate masculine virtue. To the point. Find me but guilty, sever head from body, We'll part good friends: I scorn to hold my life At yours or any man's entreaty, sir. Eng. Am. She hath a brave spirit. Mont. Well, well, such counterfeit jewels Make true ones oft suspected. Vit. Cor. You are deceived: For know, that all your strict-combinèd heads, Which strike against this mine of diamonds, Shall prove but glassen hammers—they shall break. These are but feignèd shadows of my evils: Terrify babes, my lord, with painted devils; I am past such needless palsy. For your names Of whore and murderess, they proceed from you, As if a man should spit against the wind; The filth returns in's face. Mont. Pray you, mistress, satisfy me one question: Who lodged beneath your roof that fatal night Your husband brake his neck? Brach. That question Enforceth me break silence: I was there. Mont. Your business? Brach. Why, I came to comfort her, And take some course for settling her estate, Because I heard her husband was in debt To you, my lord. Mont. He was. Brach. And 'twas strangely feared That you would cozen[51] her. Mont. Who made you overseer? Brach. Why, my charity, my charity, which should flow From every generous and noble spirit To orphans and to widows. Mont. Your lust. Brach. Cowardly dogs bark loudest: sirrah priest, I'll talk with you hereafter. Do you hear? The sword you frame of such an excellent temper I'll sheathe in your own bowels. There are a number of thy coat resemble Your common post-boys. Mont. Ha! Brach. Your mercenary post-boys: Your letters carry truth, but 'tis your guise To fill your mouths with gross and impudent lies. Serv. My lord, your gown. Brach. Thou liest, 'twas my stool: Bestow't upon thy master, that will challenge The rest o' the household-stuff; for Brachiano Was ne'er so beggarly to take a stool Out of another's lodging: let him make Vallance for his bed on't, or a demi-foot-cloth For his most reverent moil.[52] Monticelso, Nemo me impune lacessit. [Exit. Mont. Your champion's gone. Vit. Cor. The wolf may prey the better. Fran. de Med. My lord, there's great suspicion of the murder, But no sound proof who did it. For my part, I do not think she hath a soul so black To act a deed so bloody: if she have, As in cold countries husbandmen plant vines, And with warm blood manure them, even so One summer she will bear unsavoury fruit, And ere next spring wither both branch and root. The act of blood let pass; only descend To matter of incontinence. Vit. Cor. I discern poison Under your gilded pills. Mont. Now the duke's gone, I will produce a letter, Wherein 'twas plotted he and you should meet At an apothecary's summer-house, Down by the river Tiber—view't, my lords— Where, after wanton bathing and the heat Of a lascivious banquet—I pray read it, I shame to speak the rest. Vit. Cor. Grant I was tempted; Temptation to lust proves not the act: Casta est quam nemo rogavit.[53] You read his hot love to me, but you want My frosty answer. Mont. Frost i' the dog-days! strange! Vit. Cor. Condemn you me for that the duke did love me! So may you blame some fair and crystal river For that some melancholic distracted man Hath drowned himself in't. Mont. Truly
