Vit. The wolf may prey the better.


Fran. My lord, there 's great suspicion of the murder,
But no sound proof who did it. For my part,
I do not think she hath a soul so black
To act a deed so bloody; if she have,
As in cold countries husbandmen plant vines,
And with warm blood manure them; even so
One summer she will bear unsavoury fruit,
And ere next spring wither both branch and root.
The act of blood let pass; only descend
To matters of incontinence.


Vit. I discern poison
Under your gilded pills.


Mont. Now the duke's gone, I will produce a letter
Wherein 'twas plotted, he and you should meet
At an apothecary's summer-house,
Down by the River Tiber,--view 't, my lords,
Where after wanton bathing and the heat
Of a lascivious banquet--I pray read it,
I shame to speak the rest.


Vit. Grant I was tempted;
Temptation to lust proves not the act: