_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!