Mont. Your business?


Brach. 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.


Mont. He was.


Brach. And 'twas strangely fear'd,
That you would cozen her.


Mont. Who made you overseer?


Brach. Why, my charity, my charity, which should flow
From every generous and noble spirit,
To orphans and to widows.


Mont. Your lust!


Brach. Cowardly dogs bark loudest: sirrah priest,
I 'll talk with you hereafter. Do you hear?