Volp. I feel me going, uh, uh, uh, uh. I am sailing to my port, uh, uh, uh, uh, And I am glad I am so near my haven. And return; make knots, and undo them; Mos. When will you have your inventory brought, sir? Or see a copy of the will? anon, I'll bring 'em to you, sir. Away, be gone, Volp. Excellent Mosca ! Come hither, let me kiss thee. Mos. Alas, kind gentleman; well, we must all Here is Corbaccio. Mos. Are you? I do beseech you, sir, you will vouchsafe Volt. It shall both shine and warm thee, Mosca. I am a man that have not done your love Volt. But am I sole heir? Mos. Without a partner, sir, confirmed this The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry Volt. Happy, happy me! By what good chance, sweet Mosca ? I know no second cause. Volt. Thy modesty Is loth to know it; well, we shall requite it. I oft have heard him say, how he admired Volp. Set the plate away, [Exit VOLT. The vulture's gone, and the old raven's come. SCENE IV. MOSCA, CORBACCIO, and VOLPOne. Mos. Betake you to your silence, and your sleep: Stand there, and multiply. Now shall we see. Corb. How does your patron? Mos. Troth, as he did, sir; no amends. Mos. No, sir; he is rather worse. Corb. That's well. Where is he? Mos. Upon his couch, sir, newly fallen asleep. Corb. Does he sleep well? Mos. No wink, sir, all this night, Nor yesterday; but slumbers. Corb. Good! He should take Some counsel of physicians: I have brought him Corb. Why? I myself Stood by, while 'twas made; saw all the ingre dients, | And know it cannot but most gently work. Mos. He has no faith in physic: he does think Most of your doctors are the greater danger, The stream of your diverted love hath thrown you Corb. This plot did I think on before. Corb. Do you not believe it? Mos. Yes, sir. Corb. Mine own project. Mos. Which when he hath done, sir- Mos. And you so certain to survive him- Mos. Being so lusty a man- Mos. Yes, sir Corb. I thought on that too. See, how he should be The very organ, to express my thoughts! Corb. Still, my invention. Mos. 'Las, sir, Heaven knows, It hath been all my study, all my care, (I e'en grow grey withal) how to work thingsCorb. I do conceive, sweet Mosca. Mos. You are he, for whom I labour here. Corb. Ay, do, do, do : I'll straight about it. Mos. Rook go with you, raven. Corb. I know thee honest. Mos. You do lie, sir Corb, And Mos. Your knowledge is no better than your cares, sir. Corb. I do not doubt, to be a father to thee. Mos. Your worship is a precious ass- Mos. I do desire your worship to make haste, sir. Your flux of laughter, sir: you know, this hope Is such a bait, it covers my hook. Volp. O, but thy working, and thy placing it! I cannot hold; good rascal, let me kiss thee: I never knew thee in so rare a humour. Mos. Alas! sir, I but do as I am taught; Follow your grave instructions; give 'em words; Pour oil into their ears; and send them hence. Volp. 'Tis true, 'tis true. What a rare punishment Is avarice, to itself? Mos. Ay, with our help, sir. Volp. So many cares, so many maladies, Can be more frequent with 'ein, their limbs faint, here, sir, And he has brought you a rich pearl. Corv. How do you, sir? Tell him it doubles the twelfth caract. He cannot understand, his hearing's gone; I have a diamond for him too. Mos. Best shew't, sir, Put it into his hand; 'tis only there Corr. 'Las, good gentleman! Mos. Tut, forget, sir. The weeping of an heir should still be laughter, Under a visor. Cory. Why? am I his heir? Mos. Sir, I am sworn, I may not shew the will Till he be dead: but, here has been Corbaccio, Here has been Voltore, here were others too, I cannot number 'em, they were so many, All gaping here for legacies; but I, Taking the advantage of his naming you, (Signior Corvino, Signior Corvino) took Paper, and pen, and ink, and there I ask'd him, Whom he would have his heir? Corvino. Who Should be executor? Corvino. And, To any question he was silent to, I still interpreted the nods he made, (Through weakness) for consent: and sent home th'others, Nothing bequeath'd them, but to cry and curse. Cor. O, my dear Mosca. Does he not perceive us? [They embrace. Mos. No more than a blind harper. He knows no man. No face of friend, nor name of any servant, Corv. Has he children? Mos. Bastards, Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars, Gipsies, and Jews, and Blackanioors, when he was drunk. Knew you not that, sir? 'Tis the common fable. In all, save me: but he has giv'n 'em nothing. Care. That's well, that's well. Art sure he does not hear us? Mos. Sure, sir? Why, look you, credit your own sense. The pox approach, and add to your diseases, If it would send you hence the sooner, sir. For your incontinence it hath deserv'd it Throughly and throughly, and the plague to boot. (You may come near, sir,) would you would once close Those filthy eyes of your's, that flow with slime, Like two frog-pits; and those same hanging checks, Cover'd with hide, instead of skin: (Nay, help, sir,) That look like frozen dish-clouts, set on end. Corr. Or, like an old smok'd wall, on which the rain Ran down in streaks. Mos. Excellent, sir, speak out; Mes. 'Tis good! and, what his mouth? Faith, I could stifle him, rarely, with a pillow, It is your presence makes him last so long. Thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion, Mos. Your gallant wife, sir. [Erit CORY. Thou hast to-day outgone thyself. Who's there? [Another knocks. I will be troubled with no more. Prepare Why, this is better than rob churches yet; Mos. The beauteous lady Would-be, sir, Volp. Not now. Some three hours hence- Mos. I told the squire so much. Volp. When I am high with mirth and wine: Then, then. 'Fore Heav'n, I wonder at the desperate valour Of the bold English, that they dare let loose Their wives to all encounters! Mos. Sir, this knight Had not his name for nothing, he is politic, The blazing star of Italy! a wench O' the first year! a beauty ripe as harvest! Myself but yesterday discovered it. Mos. O, not possible; She's kept as warily as is your gold: POLITIC WOULD-BE and PEREGRINE. Pol. Sir, to a wise man, all the world's his soil. It is not Italy, nor France, nor Europe, Of seeing countries, shifting a religion, Where I was bred, (and unto which I owe That idle, antic, stale, gray-headed project But, a peculiar humour of my wife's, Per. Yes. Pol. I dare the safelier converse- -How long, sir, Since you left England? Per. Seven weeks. Pol. So lately! You ha' not been with my lord ambassador! Pol. Pray you, what news, sir, vents our climate? I heard, last night, a most strange thing reported Per. What was't, sir? Per. Good sir Politic! I cry you mercy; I have heard much of you: 'Tis true, sir, of your raven. Pol. On your knowledge? Per. Yes, and your lion's whelping in the Tower. Pol. Another whelp! Per. Another, sir. Pol. Now, Heaven! What prodigies be these! The fires at Berwick ! And the new star! these things concurring, strange! And full of omen! Saw you these meteors? Pol. Fearful! Pray you, sir, confirm me, Per. Six, and a sturgeon, sir. Pol. I am astonish'd! Per. Nay, sir, be not so; I'll tell you a greater prodigy than these---- (Let me be sure) that I put forth from London, Pol. Is't possible? Believe it, 'Twas either sent from Spain, or the archdukes! Per. Faith, Stone, the fool, is dead; Pol. Marry, sir, of a raven, that should build | And they do lack a tavern-fool extremely. In a ship royal of the king's. Per. This fellow, Pol. Is Mass' Stone dead! Per. He's dead, sir: Why, I hope Does he gull me, trow? or is gull'd? your name, You thought him not immortal? O, this knight sir? Pol. My name is Politic Would-be. Per. O, that speaks him. A knight, sir? Pol. A poor knight, sir. Per. Your lady Lies here, in Venice, for intelligence Among the courtezans? the fine lady Would-be ? Pol. Yes, sir; the spider and the bee ofttimes Suck from one flower, (Were he well known,) would be a precious thing To fit our English stage! He that should write But such a fellow, should be thought to feign Extremely, if not maliciously. Pol. Stone dead! Per. Dead. Lord! how deeply, sir, you apprehend it? He was no kinsman to you? Pol. That I know of. Well! that same fellow was an unknown fool. |