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;