Ven. As all do, sir:
We many times make modest mirth a necessity
To produce ladies' dreams.
Fran. How they shoot at us! Would I were in Milan!
These passages fry me.
Enter Jaspro and Lodovico.[161]
Jas. Here's strange juggling come to light.
Ver. Ha; juggling!
Jas. This friar hath confess'd unto Count Lodowick,
That this lady here, being absolv'd, confess'd
This morning to him here, in her own house,
Her man Francisco here had lain with her.
At which her lord runs up and down the garden
Like one distracted, crying, Ware horns, ho!
Dor. Art mad? Deny it yet; I am undone else.
Clown. Father Tony!
Lod. I confess it, I deny it—ay, anything. I do everything; I do nothing.
Ver. The friar's fallen frantic; and being mad,
Depraves a lady of so chaste a breast,
A bad thought never bred there.