_Mont._ Their number rises strangely; and some of them You'd take for honest men. Next are panders,-- These are your pirates; and these following leaves For base rogues that undo young gentlemen By taking up commodities;[65] for politic bankrupts; For fellows that are bawds to their own wives, Only to put off horses, and slight jewels, Clocks, defaced plate, and such commodities, At birth of their first children. _Fran. de Med._ Are there such? _Mont._ These are for impudent bawds That go in men's apparel; for usurers That share with scriveners for their good reportage; For lawyers that will antedate their writs: And some divines you might find folded there, But that I slip them o'er for conscience' sake. Here is a general catalogue of knaves: A man might study all the prisons o'er, Yet never attain this knowledge. _Fran. de Med._ Murderers! Fold down the leaf, I pray. Good my lord, let me borrow this strange doctrine. _Mont._ Pray, use't, my lord. _Fran. de Med._ I do assure your lordship, You are a worthy member of the state, And have done infinite good in your discovery Of these offenders. _Mont._ Somewhat, sir. _Fran. de Med._ O God! Better than tribute of wolves paid in England:[66] 'Twill hang their skins o' the hedge. _Mont._ I must make bold To leave your lordship. _Fran. de Med._ Dearly, sir, I thank you: If any ask for me at court, report You have left me in the company of knaves. [_Exit_ MONTICELSO. I gather now by this, some cunning fellow That's my lord's officer, one that lately skipped From a clerk's desk up to a justice' chair, Hath made this knavish summons, and intends, As the Irish rebels wont were to sell heads, So to make prize of these. And thus it happens, Your poor rogues pay for't which have not the means To present bribe in fist: the rest o' the band Are razed out of the knaves' record; or else My lord he winks at them with easy will; His man grows rich, the knaves are the knaves still. But to the use I'll make of it; it shall serve To point me out a list of murderers, Agents for any villany. Did I want Ten leash of courtezans, it would furnish me; Nay, laundress three armies. That in so little paper Should lie the undoing of so many men! 'Tis not so big as twenty declarations. See the corrupted use some make of books: Divinity, wrested by some factious blood, Draws swords, swells battles, and o'erthrows all good. To fashion my revenge more seriously, Let me remember my dead sister's face: Call for her picture? no, I'll close mine eyes, And in a melancholic thought I'll frame _Enter_ ISABELLA'S ghost.