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I do but tell you, sir. Besides, they are all Now striving, who shall first present him. Therefore

I could entreat you, briefly, conclude somewhat : Prevent 'em if you can.

Corv. Death to my hopes!

This is my villanous fortune! Best to hire
Some common courtezan?

Mos. Ay, I thought on that, sir.

But they are all so subtle, full of art,
And age again doting and flexible,
So as I cannot tell-we may perchance
Light on a quean may cheat us all.

Corv. "Tis true.

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Corv. I pr'ythee, give me leave. If any man But I had had this luck--The thing in't self, I know is nothing-Wherefore should not I As well command my blood and my affections As this dull doctor! In the point of honour, The cases are all one, of wife and daughter. Mos. I hear him coming.

Corv. She shall do't: 'Tis done.
"Slight, if this doctor, who is not engaged,
Unless't be for his counsel, which is nothing,
Offer his daughter, what should I, that am
So deeply in? I will prevent him, wretch!
Covetous wretch! Mosca, I have determined.
Mos. How, sir?

Corv. We'll make all sure.
wot of,

Shall be mine own wife, Mosca.

Mos. Sir, the thing

The party you

(But that I would not seem to counsel you)
I should have mention'd to you at the first:
And make your count, you have cut all their
throats.

Why! 'tis directly taking a possession!
And, in his next fit, we may let him go.
'Tis but to pull the pillow from his head,
And he is throttled 't had been done before,
But for your scrupulous doubts.

Coro. Ay, a plague on't,

My conscience fools my wit. Well, I'll be brief,
And so be thou, lest they should be before us:
Go home, prepare him, tell him with what zeal
And willingness I do it; swear it was,

On the first hearing (as thou may'st do truly)
Mine own free motion.

Mos. Sir, I warrant you,

I'll so possess him with it, that the rest
Of his starved clients shall be banish'd all;
And only you received. But come not, sir,
Until I send, for I have something else
To ripen for your good-you must not know't.
Corv. But do not you forget to send now.
Mos. Fear not.
[Exit Mos.

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Corv. Faith, I am not, I, nor never was: It is a poor, unprofitable humour. Do not I know, if women have a will, They'll do 'gainst all the watches o' the world? And that the fiercest spies are tamed with gold? Tut, I am confident in thee, thou shalt see't: And see, I'll give thee cause too to believe it. Come, kiss me. Go and make thee ready straight, In all thy best attire, thy choicest jewels, Put 'em all on, and, with 'em, thy best looks: We are invited to a solemn feast,

At old Volpone's, where it shall appear

How far I'm free from jealousy or fear. [Exeunt.

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I mean not those that have your bare town-art,
To know who's fit to feed 'em; Irave no house,
No family, no care, and therefore mould
Tales for men's ears, to bait that sense; or get
Kitchen-invention, and some stale receipts
To please the belly, and the groin; nor those,
With their court-dog tricks, that can fawn and
fleer,

Make their revenue out of legs and faces,
Echo my lord, and lick away a moth:
But your fine, elegant rascal, that can rise,
And stoop, almost together, like an arrow;
Shoot through the air as nimbly as a star;
Turn short, as doth a swallow; and be hicre
And there, and here and yonder, all at once;
Present to any humour, all occasion;

And change a visor, swifter than a thought!
This is the creature, had the art born with him;
Toils not to learn it, but doth practise it
Out of most excellent nature: And such sparks
Are the true parasites, others but their zanies.

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Mos. And thrust you forth,

As a mere stranger to his blood; 'tis true, sir:
The work no way engageth me, but, as
I claim an interest in the general state
Of goodness and true virtue, which I hear
T' abound in you; and, for which mere respect,
Without a second aim, sir, I have done it.

Bon. This tale hath lost thee much of the late trust

Thou hadst with me; it is impossible:

I know not how to lend it any thought,

My father should be so unnatural.

Mos. It is a confidence that well becomes Your piety; and form'd, no doubt, it is

Bon. Nay, pr'ythee know thy way, and leave From your own simple innocence; which makes

me:

I would be loth to interchange discourse

With such a mate as thou art.

Mos. Courteous sir,

Scorn not my poverty.

Bon. Not I, by Heav'n:

But thou shalt give me leave to hate thy baseness.
Mos. Baseness?

Bon. Ay, answer me, is not thy sloth
Sufficient argument? thy flattery?
Thy means of feeding?

Mos. Heav'n be good to me!
These imputations are too common, sir,
And eas❜ly stuck on virtue, when she's poor;
You are unequal to me, and howe'er

Your sentence may be righteous, yet you are not,
That, e'er you know me, thus proceed in censure:
St Mark bear witness 'gainst you, 'tis inhuman.
Bon. What? does he weep? the sign is soft
and good!

I do repent me, that I was so harsh.

Mos. 'Tis true, that, sway'd by strong necessity,

I am enforced to eat my careful bread
With too much obsequy; 'tis true, beside,
That I am fain to spin mine own poor raiment
Out of my mere observance, being not born
To a free fortune; but that I have done
Base offices, in rending friends asunder,
Dividing families, betraying counsels,
Whispering false lies, or mining men with praises,
Train'd their credulity with perjuries,
Cerrupted chastity, or am in love

Your wrong more monstrous and abhorr'd. But,

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First, for your dwarf, he's little and witty,
And every thing, as it is little, is pretty;
Else, why do men say to a creature of my shape,
So soon as they see him, it's a pretty little ape?
And why a pretty ape? but for pleasing imitation
Of greater men's actions, in a ridiculous fashion.
Beside, this feat body of mine doth not crave
Half the meat, drink, and cloth, one of your bulk
will have.

Admit your fool's face be the mother of laughter,
Yet, for his brain, it must always come after:
And though that do feed him, it's a pitiful case,
His body is beholding to such a bad face.
Volp. Who's there? my couch, away, look,
Nano, see:
[One knocks.
Give me my caps, first-go, enquire. Now, Cu-
pid,

Send it be Mosca, and with fair return.

Nan. It is the beauteous madam-
Volp. Would-be-is it?

Nan. The same.

Volp. Now, torment on me! 'squire her in, For she will enter, or dwell here for ever. Nay, quickly, that my fit were past. I fear A second hell too, that my loathing this Will quite expel my appetite to the other: Would she were taking, now, her tedious leave. Lord, how it threats me, what I am to suffer!

SCENE IV.

Lady, VOLPONE, NANO, and two Women. you, good sir. Pray you signify Lady. I thank Unto your patron I am here. This band Shews not my neck enough (I trouble you, sir, Let me request you bid one of my women Come hither to me;) in good faith, I am drest Most favourably to-day; it is no matter, 'Tis well enough. Look, see, these petulant things!

How they have done this!

Volp. I do feel the fever

Entering in at mine ears; O, for a charm
To fright it hence.

Lady. Come nearer is this curl

In his right place? or this? why is this higher Than all the rest? you ha' not wash'd your eyes yet?

Or do they not stand even i'your head?
Where's your fellow? call her.

Nan. Now, St Mark

Deliver us; anon she'll beat her women,
Because her nose is red.

Lady. I pray you, view

This tire, forsooth: are all things apt, or no? Wom. One hair a little, here, sticks out, forsooth.

Lady. Does't so, forsooth? and where was your dear sight

When it did so, forsooth? what now? bird-ey'd? And you too? pray you both approach, and mend it.

Now (by that light) I muse, you're not asham'd! 1, that have preach'd these things so oft unto you,

Read you the principles, argued all the grounds, Disputed every fitness, every grace,

Called you to counsel of so frequent dressingsNan. More carefully, than of your fame or honour.

Lady. Made you acquainted, what an ample dowry

The knowledge of these things would be unto you, Able, alone, to get you noble husbands

At

your return: and you thus to neglect it! Besides, you seeing what a curious nation Th' Italians are, what will they say of me? The English lady cannot dress herself; Here's a fine imputation to our country! Well, go your ways, and stay i'the next room. This fucus was too coarse too, it's no matter. Good sir, you'll give 'em entertainment? Volp. The storm comes toward me. Lady. How does my Volp?

Volp. Troubled with noise, I cannot sleep: I

dream'd

That a strange fury enter'd, now, my house,
And, with the dreadful tempest of her breath,
Did cleave my roof asunder.

Lady. Believe me, and I

Had the most fearful dream, could I remen

ber't

Volp. Out on my fate! I ha' given her the oc

casion

How to torment me: she will tell me hers.
Lady. Methought, the golden mediocrity
Polite and delicate-

Volp. O, if you do love me,

No more; I sweat, and suffer, at the mention
Of any dream; feel, how I tremble yet.

Lady. Alas, good soul! the passion of the heart!

Seed-pearl were good now, boil'd with syrup of apples,

Tincture of gold, and coral, citron-pills,
Your elicampane root, myrobalanes-

Volp. Ah me, I have ta'en a grasshopper by the
wing.

Lady. Burnt silk and amber, you have muscadel

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me.

Volp. The sun, the sea, will sooner both stand stili,

Than her eternal tongue! nothing can 'scape it. Lady. Here's Pastor Fido.

Volp. Profess obstinate silence; That's now my safest.

Lady. All our English writers,

I mean such as are happy in th' Italian,
Will deign to steal out of this author mainly;
Almost as much, as from Montaigne,
He has so modern and facile a vein,
Fitting the time, and catching the court-ear;
Your Petrarch is more passionate, yet he,
In days of sonnetting, trusting 'em, with much:
Dante is hard, and few can understand him.
But, for a desperate wit, there's Aretine!
Only, his pictures are a little obscene-
You mark me not?

Volp. Alas, my mind's perturb'd.

Lady. Why, in such cases, we must cure our-
selves,

Make use of our philosophy—
Volp. Oh me!

Lady. And, as we find our passions do rebel,
Encounter 'em with reason, or divert 'em,
By giving scope unto some other humour
Of lesser danger; as in politic bodies,
There's nothing more doth overwhelm the judg-
ment,

And clouds the understanding, than too much
Settling and fixing, and (as 'twere) subsiding
Upon one object. For the incorporating
Of these same outward things, into that part,
Which we call mental, leaves some certain fæces
That stop the organs, and, as Plato says,
Assassinates our knowledge.

Voip. Now, the spirit

Of patience help me!

Lady. Come, in faith I must

Visit you more a-days, and make you well:
Laugh, and be lusty

Volp. My good angels save me!

Lady. There was but one sole man in all the world,

With whom I e'er could sympathise; and he Would lie you often three or four hours together To hear me speak; and be sometime so rapp'd, As he would answer me quite from the purpose

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MOSCA, Lady, and VOLPONE.

Mos. God save you, madam.
Lady. Good sir.

Volp. Mosca! Welcome,
Welcome to my redemption.
Mos. Why, sir?
Volp. Oh,

Rid me of this my torture, quickly, there
My madam, with the everlasting voice:
The bells, in time of pestilence, ne'er made
Like noise, or were in that perpetual motion!
The cock-pit comes not near it. All my house,
But now, steam'd like a bath with her thick breath.
A lawyer could not have been heard; nor scarce
Another woman, such a hail of words

She has let fall. For hell's sake rid her hence.
Mos. Has she presented?

Volp. O, I do not care,

I'll take her absence upon any price,
With any loss.

Mos. Madam

Lady. I ha' brought your patron
A toy, a cap here, of mine own work—
Mos. 'Tis well.

I had forgot to tell you, I saw your knight
Where you'd little think it-

Lady. Where?

Mos. Marry, Where yet, if you make haste, you may appre hend him,

Rowing upon the water in a gondola,
With the most cunning courtezan of Venice.
Lady, Is't true?

Mos. Pursue 'em, and believe your eyes: Leave me to make your gift. I knew 'twould take.

For lightly they that use themselves most licence, Are still most jealous.

Volp. Mosca, hearty thanks,

For thy quick fiction, and delivery of me.
Now to my hopes, what say'st thou ?
Lady. But do you hear, sir?—

Volp. Again! I fear a paroxysm.
Lady. Which way

Row'd they together?

Mos. Toward the Rialto.

Lady. I pray you lend me your dwarf.
Mos. I pray you take him.

Your hopes, sir, are like happy blossoms fair,
And promise timely fruit, if you will stay
But the maturing; keep you at your couch

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[To BONARIO.

It will be half an hour ere he come;
And therefore, if you please to walk the while
Into that gallery-at the upper end,
There are some books to entertain the time:
And I'll take care no man shall come unto you,
sir.

Bon. Yes, I will stay there. I do doubt this
fellow.
[Exit.

Mos. There, he is far enough; he can hear nothing:

And for his father, I can keep him off. Corv. Nay, now, there is no starting back, and therefore

Resolve upon it: I have so decreed.

It must be done. Nor would I move't afore,
Because I would avoid all shifts and tricks
That might deny me.

Cel. Sir, let me beseech you,
Affect not these strange trials; if you doubt
My chastity, why lock me up for ever:
Make me the heir of darkness. Let me live
Where I may please your fears, if not your trust.
Corv. Believe it, I have no such humour, I.
All that I speak I mean, yet I am not mad;

Not horn-mad, see you. Go too, shew yourself Obedient, and a wife.

Cel. O Heaven!
Corv. I say it, do so.

Cel. Was this the train?

Coro. I have told you reasons;

What the physicians have set down; how much
It may concern me; what my engagements are;
My means; and the necessity of those means
For my recovery: Wherefore, if you be
Loyal, and mine, be won, respect my venture,
Cel. Before your honour?

Coro. Honour? Tut, a breath;

There's no such thing in nature: A mere terin
Invented to awe fools. What is my gold
The worse, for touching? Cloths, for being
look'd on?

Why, this's no more. An old decrepit wretch,
That has no sense, or sinew; takes his meat
With others fingers; only knows to gape
When you do scald his gums; a voice; a shadow;
And what can this man hurt you?

Cel. Lord! what spirit is this hath enter'd
him?

Corv. And for your fame,

That's such a jig; as if I would go tell it,
Cry it, on the piazza! Who shall know it,
But he, that cannot speak it; and this fellow,
Whose lips are in my pocket? Save yourself,
If you'll proclaim 't you may. I know no other,
Should come to know it.

Cel. Are Heav'n and saints then nothing?
Will they be blind or stupid?

Cory. How?

Cel. Good sir,

Be jealous still, emulate them; and think
What hate they burn with toward every sin.

Coro. I grant you; if I thought it were a sin,
I would not urge you. Should I offer this
To some young Frenchman, or hot Tuscan blood,
That had read Aretine, conn'd all his prints,
Knew every quirk within lust's labyrinth,
And were profess'd critic in letchery;
And I would look upon him, and applaud him,
This were a sin: But here, 'tis contrary;
A pious work, mere charity, for physic,
An honest polity, to assure mine own.

Cel. O Heav'n! canst thou suffer such a change?

Volp. Thou art mine honour, Mosca, and my pride,

My joy, my tickling, my delight! go, bring 'em, Mos. Please you draw near, sir.

Corv. Come on, what

You will not be rebellious? by that light

Mos. Sir, Signior Corvino here is come t

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