Lawyer. My good lord.
Fran. 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 learn'd verbosity.
Lawyer. 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.
Vit. Oh, 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 honour'd lords,
A woman of most prodigious spirit,
In her effected.
Vit. My honourable lord,
It doth not suit a reverend cardinal
To play the lawyer thus.
Mont. Oh, your trade instructs your language!
You see, my lords, what goodly fruit she seems;
Yet like those apples 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. Your envenom'd 'pothecary should do 't.
Mont. I am resolv'd,
Were there a second paradise to lose,
This devil would betray it.