Nor thou honest; One, that not long since was the buckram Scribe, That would run on mens errands for an Asper, And from such baseness, having rais'd a Stock To bribe the covetous Judge, call'd to the Bar.
So poor in practice too, that you would plead A needy Clyents Cause, for a starv'd Hen, Or half a little Loin of Veal, though fly-blown, And these, the greatest Fees you could arrive at For just proceedings; but since you turn'd Rascal--
_Bar_.
Good words, my Lord.
_Jam_.
And grew my Brothers Bawd, In all his vitious courses, soothing him In his dishonest practises, you are grown The rich, and eminent Knave, in the Devils name, What am I cited for?
_Bar_.
You shall know anon, And then too late repent this bitter language, Or I'll miss of my ends.
_Jam_.
Were't not in Court, I would beat that fat of thine, rais'd by the food Snatch'd from poor Clyents mouths, into a jelly: I would (my man of Law) but I am patient, And would obey the Judge.
_Bar_.
'Tis your best course: Would every enemy I have would beat me, I would wish no better Action.
_Octa_.
'Save your Lordship.
_Asc_.
My humble service.
_Jam_.
My good Boy, how dost thou?
Why art thou call'd into the Court?
_Enter_ Assistant, Henrique, Officer, _and_ Witnesses.
_Asc_.
I know not, But 'tis my Lord the Assistants pleasure I should attend here.
_Jam_.
He will soon resolve us.
_Offi_.
Make way there for the Judge.
_Jam_.
How? my kind Brother?
Nay then 'tis rank: there is some villany towards.
_Assist_.
This Sessions purchas'd at your suit, _Don Henrique_, Hath brought us hither, to hear and determine Of what you can prefer.
_Hen_.
I do beseech The honourable Court, I may be heard In my Advocate.
_Assist_.
'Tis granted.
_Bar_.
Humh, humh.
_Jam_.
That Preface, If left out in a Lawyer, spoils the Cause, Though ne're so good, and honest.
_Bar_.
If I stood here, To plead in the defence of an ill man, (Most equal Judge) or to accuse the innocent (To both which, I profess my self a stranger) It would be requisite I should deck my Language With Tropes and Figures, and all flourishes That grace a Rhetorician, 'tis confess'd Adulterate Metals need the Gold-smiths Art, To set 'em off; what in it self is perfect Contemns a borrowed gloss: this Lord (my Client) Whose honest cause, when 'tis related truly, Will challenge justice, finding in his Conscience A tender scruple of a fault long since By him committed, thinks it not sufficient To be absolv'd of't by his Confessor, If that in open Court he publish not What was so long conceal'd.
_Jam_.
To what tends this?
_Bar_.
In his young years (it is no miracle That youth, and heat of blood, should mix together) He look'd upon this woman, on whose face The ruines yet remain, of excellent form, He look'd on her, and lov'd her.
_Jac_.
You good Angels, What an impudence is this?
_Bar_.
And us'd all means Of Service, Courtship, Presents, that might win her To be at his devotion: but in vain; Her Maiden Fort, impregnable held out, Until he promis'd Marriage; and before These Witnesses a solemn Contract pass'd To take her as his Wife.
_Assist_.
Give them their Oath.