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.