_Jac_.
Peace, give them leave.
_Jam_.
Serve me with Process?
_Bar_.
My Lord, you are not lawless.
_Jam_.
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.
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