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Vit. Your envenom'd apothecary should do't.
Mon. I am resolved,

Were there a second paradise to lose,

This devil would betray it. Vit. O, poor charity,

Thou art seldom found in scarlet !
Mon. Who knows not how, when several night by night

Her gates were choked with coaches, and her rooms
Outbraved the stars with several kinds of lights ;
When she did counterfeit a prince's court
In music, banquets, and most riotous surfeits ;

This whore forsooth was holy !
Vit. Ha! whore ? what's that ?
Mon. Shall I expound whore to you ? sure I shall.

I'll give their perfect character. They are first,
Sweetmeats which rot the eater: in man's nostrils
Poison'd perfumes. They are cozening alchymy ;
Shipwrecks in calmest weather. What are whores ?
Cold Russian winters, that appear so barren,
As if that nature had forgot the spring.
They are the true material fire of hell.
Worse than those tributes i' the low countries paid,
Exactions upon meat, drink, garments, sleep;
Ay, even on man's perdition, his sin.
They are those brittle evidences of law,
Which forfeit all a wretched man's estate
For leaving out one syllable. What are whores ?
They are those flattering bells have all one tune,
At weddings and at funerals. Your rich whores
Are only treasuries by extortion fill'd,
And emptied by cursed riot. They are worse,
Worse than dead bodies, which are begg'd at the gallows,
And wrought upon by surgeons, to teach man
Wherein he is imperfect. What's a whore ?
She's like the gilt counterfeited coin,
Which, whosoe'er first stamps it, brings in trouble

All that receive it.
Vit. This character 'scapes nie.
on. You, gentlewoman?

Take from all beasts and from all minerals

Their deadly poisonVit. Well, what then ?

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Find me but guilty, sever head from body,
We'll part good friends : I scorn to hold my life

At yours, or any man's entreaty, sir.
En. Emb. She hath a brave spirit.
Mon. Well, well, such counterfeit jewels

Make true ones oft suspected.
Vit. You are deceived;

For know, that all your strict combined heads,
Which strike against this mine of diamonds,
Shall prove but glassen hammers, they shall break.
These are but feigned shadows of my evils.
Terrify babes, my lord, with painted devils ;
I am past such needless palsy. For your names
Of whore and murderess, they proceed from you,
As if a man should spit against the wind;

The filth returns in 's face.
Mon. Pray you, mistress, satisfy me one question :

Who lodged beneath your roof that fatal night

Your husband brake his neck ?
Bra. That question

Enforceth me break silence; I was there.
Mon. Your business ?
Bra. Why, I came to comfort her.

And take some course for settling her estate,
Because I heard her husband was in debt

To you, my lord.
Mon. He was.
Bra. And 'twas strangely fear'd

That you would cozen her.
Mon. Who made you overseer ?
Bra. Why, my charity, my charity, which should flow

From every generous and noble spirit,

To orphans and to widows.
Mon. Your lust.
Bra. Cowardly dogs bark loudest! sirrah, priest,

I'll talk with you hereafter. Do you hear?
The sword you frame of such an excellent temper,
I'll sheath in your own bowels.
There are a number of thy coat resemble

Your common post-boys.
Mon. Ha!
Bra. Your mercenary post-buys.

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1

Mon. Truly drown'd, indeed.
Vit. Sum up my faults, I pray, and you shall find,

That beauty and gay clothes, a merry heart,
And a good stomach to 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. Mon. Very good.

[me first, Vit. But take you your course; it seems you ’ve begg'd

And now would fain undo me. I have houses,
Jewels, and a poor remnant of crusadoes ;
Would these would make

you charitable ! Mon. If the devil

Did ever take good shape, behold his picture !
Dit. You have one virtue left,

You will not flatter me.
Fra. Who brought this letter ?
Vit. I am not compell’d to tell you.
Mon. My lord duke sent to you a thousand ducats,

The twelfth of August.
Vit. 'Twas to keep your cousin

From prison, I paid use for 't. Mon. I rather think,

'Twas interest for his lust. Vit. Who says so but yourself? if you be my accuser,

Pray cease to be my judge: come from the bench,
Give in your evidence against 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 proclaim'd them all. Mon. Go to, go to.

After your goodly and vain-glorious banquet,

I'll give you a choke-pear.
Vit. Of your own grafting?
Mon. 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. Ha!
Mon. He spent there in six months

Twelve thousand ducats, and (to my knowledge)

1 Her husband Camillo, who was cousin to Monticelso.

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