Corv. I shall,
And modesty of your most reverend ears.
And yet I hope that I may say, these eyes
Have seen her glued unto that piece of cedar,
That fine well-timber’d gallant; and that here
The letters may be read, thorough the horn,
That make the story perfect.

Mos. Excellent! sir.

Corv. There is no shame in this now, is there?

Mos. None.

Corv. Or if I said, I hoped that she were onward
To her damnation, if there be a hell
Greater than whore and woman; a good catholic
May make the doubt.

3 Avoc. His grief hath made him frantic.

l Avoc. Remove him hence.

2 Avoc. Look to the woman.

Corv. Rare!
Prettily feign’d, again!

4 Avoc. Stand from about her.

l Avoc. Give her the air.

3 Avoc. What can you say?

Mos. My wound,
May it please your wisdoms, speaks for me, received
In aid of my good patron, when he mist
His sought-for father, when that well-taught dame
Had her cue given her, to cry out, A rape!

Bon. O most laid impudence! Fathers—

3 Avoc. Sir, be silent;
You had your hearing free, so must they theirs.

2 Avoc. I do begin to doubt the imposture here.

4 Avoc. This woman has too many moods.

Volt. Grave fathers,
She is a creature of a most profest
And prostituted lewdness.

Corv. Most impetuous,
Unsatisfied, grave fathers!

Volt. May her feignings
Not take your wisdoms: but this day she baited
A stranger, a grave knight, with her loose eyes,
And more lascivious kisses. This man saw them
Together on the water, in a gondola.

Mos. Here is the lady herself, that saw them too;
Without; who then had in the open streets
Pursued them, but for saving her knight’s honour.

1 Avoc. Produce that lady.