_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 drowned, indeed. _Vit. Cor._ Sum up my faults, I pray, and you shall find, That beauty, and gay clothes, a merry heart, And a good stomach to a feast, are all, All the poor crimes that you can charge me with. In faith, my lord, you might go pistol flies; The sport would be more noble. _Mont._ Very good. _Vit. Cor._ But take you your course: it seems you have beggared me first, And now would fain undo me. I have houses, Jewels, and a poor remnant of crusadoes:[54] Would those would make you charitable! _Mont._ If the devil Did ever take good shape, behold his picture. _Vit. Cor._ You have one virtue left,-- You will not flatter me. _Fran. de Med._ Who brought this letter? _Vit. Cor._ I am not compelled to tell you. _Mont._ My lord duke sent to you a thousand ducats The twelfth of August. _Vit. Cor._ 'Twas to keep your cousin From prison: I paid use for't. _Mont._ I rather think 'Twas interest for his lust. _Vit. Cor._ Who says so But yourself? if you be my accuser, Pray, cease to be my judge: come from the bench; Give in your evidence 'gainst me, and let these Be moderators. My lord cardinal, Were your intelligencing ears as loving As to my thoughts, had you an honest tongue, I would not care though you proclaimed them all. _Mont._ Go to, go to. After your goodly and vain-glorious banquet, I'll give you a choke-pear. _Vit. Cor._ O' your own grafting? _Mont._ You were born in Venice, honourably descended From the Vittelli: 'twas my cousin's fate,-- Ill may I name the hour,--to marry you: He bought you of your father. _Vit. Cor._ Ha! _Mont._ He spent there in six months Twelve thousand ducats, and (to my acquaintance) Received in dowry with you not one julio:[55] 'Twas a hard pennyworth, the ware being so light. I yet but draw the curtain now to your picture: You came from thence a most notorious strumpet, And so you have continued. _Vit. Cor._ My lord,--