The White Devil Part 14

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.

Vit. O poor Charity!

Thou art seldom found in scarlet.

Mont. Who knows not how, when several night by night Her gates were chok'd with coaches, and her rooms Outbrav'd the stars with several kind of lights; When she did counterfeit a prince's court In music, banquets, and most riotous surfeits; This wh.o.r.e forsooth was holy.

Vit. Ha! wh.o.r.e! what 's that?

Mont. Shall I expound wh.o.r.e 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 alchemy; Shipwrecks in calmest weather. What are wh.o.r.es!

Cold Russian winters, that appear so barren, As if that nature had forgot the spring.

They are the true material fire of h.e.l.l: Worse than those tributes i' th' 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 wh.o.r.es!

They are those flattering bells have all one tune, At weddings, and at funerals. Your rich wh.o.r.es Are only treasuries by extortion fill'd, And emptied by curs'd riot. They are worse, Worse than dead bodies which are begg'd at gallows, And wrought upon by surgeons, to teach man Wherein he is imperfect. What's a wh.o.r.e!

She 's like the guilty counterfeited coin, Which, whosoe'er first stamps it, brings in trouble All that receive it.

Vit. This character 'scapes me.

Mont. You, gentlewoman!

Take from all beasts and from all minerals Their deadly poison----

Vit. Well, what then?

Mont. I 'll tell thee; I 'll find in thee a 'pothecary's shop, To sample them all.

Fr. Amba.s.s. She hath liv'd ill.

Eng. Amba.s.s. True, but the cardinal 's too bitter.

Mont. You know what wh.o.r.e is. Next the devil adultery, Enters the devil murder.

Fran. Your unhappy husband Is dead.

Vit. Oh, he 's a happy husband!

Now he owes nature nothing.

Fran. And by a vaulting engine.

Mont. An active plot; he jump'd into his grave.

Fran. What a prodigy was 't, That from some two yards' height, a slender man Should break his neck!

Mont. I' th' rushes!

Fran. And what's more, Upon the instant lose all use of speech, All vital motion, like a man had lain Wound up three days. Now mark each circ.u.mstance.

Mont. And look upon this creature was his wife!

She comes not like a widow; she comes arm'd With scorn and impudence: is this a mourning-habit?

Vit. Had I foreknown his death, as you suggest, I would have bespoke my mourning.

Mont. Oh, you are cunning!

Vit. You shame your wit and judgment, To call it so. What! is my just defence By him that is my judge call'd impudence?

Let me appeal then from this Christian court, To the uncivil Tartar.

Mont. See, my lords, She scandals our proceedings.

Vit. Humbly thus, Thus low to the most worthy and respected Lieger amba.s.sadors, my modesty And womanhood I tender; but withal, So entangled in a curs'd accusation, That my defence, of force, like Perseus, Must personate masculine virtue. To the point.

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.

Eng. Amba.s.s. She hath a brave spirit.