His own most fair and proper wife; the beauty,
Only of price, in Venice-
Cor. 'Tis well urg'd.

Mos. To be your comfortress, and to preserve

you.

Volp. Alas, I am past already! 'pray you, thank him,

For his good care, and promptness; but for that 'Tis a vain labour, e'en to fight 'gainst Heaven; Applying fire to a stone: (uh, uh, uh, uh,) Making a dead leaf grow again. I take His wishes gently, though; and you may tell him, What I've done for him: marry, my state is hopeless!

Will him to pray for me; and t' use his fortune, With reverence, when he comes to't.

Mos. Do you hear, sir? Go to him, with your wife.

Cort. Heart of my father!

Wilt thou persist thus? come, I pray thee come,
Thou seest 'tis nothing, Celia, by this hand,
I shall grow violent. Come, do't, I say.

Cel. Sir, kill me rather: I will take down poison,

Eat burning coals, do any thing

Corn. Be damn'd.

Heart! I will drag thee hence, home, by the hair;
Cry thee a strumpet, through the streets; rip up
Thy mouth, unto thine ears; and slit thy nose,
Like a raw rotchet-Do not tempt me, come.
Yield, I am loth-Death! I will buy some slave,
Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him, alive;
And at my window hang you forth; devising
Some monstrous crime, which I, in capital letters,
Will eat into thy flesh with aquafortis,
And burning cor❜sives, on this stubborn breast.
Now, by the blood thou hast incens'd, I'll do't.
Cel. Sir, what you please you may, I am your
martyr.

Cord. Be not thus obstinate, I ha' not deserv'd it:

Think who it is intreats you. 'Pr'y thee, sweet; Good faith, thou shalt have jewels, gowns, attires,

What thou wilt think, and ask. Do you but kiss him,

Or touch him, but. For my sake. At my suit.
This once. No? not? I shall remember this.
Will you disgrace me, thus? do you thirst my
undoing?

Mos. Nay, gentle lady, be advis'd.
Coro. No, no.

She has watch'd her time. God's precious, this

is scurvy,

'Tis very scurvy: and you are

Mos. Nay, good sir.

Cory. An arrant locust, by Heaven, a locust.
Whore,

Crocodile, that hast thy tears prepar'd,
Expecting how thou'lt bid 'em flow.

Mos. Nay, 'pray you, sir, she will consider.
Cel. Would my life wou'd serve to satisfy.
Corv. 'S'death, if she would but speak to him,
And save my reputation, 'twere somewhat;
But, spitefully to affect my utter ruin !

VOL. III.

Mos. Ay, now you have put your fortune in
her hands.

Why, i'faith, it is her modesty, I must quit her;
If you were absent, she would be more coming;
I know it; and dare undertake for her.
What woman can, before her husband? 'pray you,
Let us depart, and leave her here.
Corv. Sweet Celia,

Thou may'st redeem all, yet; I'll say no more: If not, esteem yourself as lost. Nay, stay there. [Erit CORV. angels! whither,

Cel. O God, and his good
whither

Is shame fled human breasts? that with such case
Men dare put off your honours, and their own!
Is that, which ever was a cause of life,
Now plac'd beneath the basest circumstance?
And modesty an exile made, for money?

Volp. Ay, in Corvino, and such earth-fed
minds, [Leaping off from his couch.
That never tasted the true heav'n of love.
Assure thee, Celia, he that would sell thee,
Only for hope of gain, and that uncertain,
He would have sold his part of Paradise
For ready money, had he met a copeman.
Why art thou 'maz'd, to see me thus reviv'd?
Rather applaud thy beauty's miracle;
'Tis thy great work: that hath, not now alone,
But sundry times, rais'd me, in several shapes,
And, but this morning, like a mountebank,
To see thee at thy window. Ay, before
I would have left my practice, for thy love,
In varying figures, I would have contended
With the blue Proteus, or the horned flood.
Now art thou welcome.

Cel. Sir!

Volp. Nay, fly me not,
Nor let thy false imagination

Ihat I was bed-rid, make thee think I am so :
Thou shalt not find it. I am, now, as fresh,
As hot, as high, and in as jovial plight,
As when (in that so celebrated scene,
At recitation of our comedy,

For entertainment of the great Valoys)
I acted young Antinous; and attracted
The eyes and ears of all the ladies present,
T'admire each graceful gesture, note, and foot-
ing.

SONG.

Come, my Celia, let us prove,
While we can, the sports of love;
Time will not be ours for ever,
He, at length, our good will sever;
Spend not then his gifts in vain.
Suns, that set, may rise again:
But if once we lose this light,
'Tis with us perpetual night.
Why should we defer our joys?
Fame and rumour are but toys.
Cannot we delude the eyes

Of a few poor household spies?
Or his easier ears beguile,
Thus removed by our wile ?

D

'Tis no sin love's fruits to steal;

But the sweet thefts to reveal:
To be taken, to be seen,

These have crimes accounted been.

Cel. Some syren. blast me, or dire lightning strike

This my offending face!

Volp. Why droops my Celia?

Thou hast, in place of a base husband, found
A worthy lover: use thy fortune well,
With secrecy and pleasure. See, behold,
What thou art queen of; not in expectation,
As I feed others; but possess'd and crown'd.
See here, a rope of pearl: and each more orient
Than that the brave Egyptian queen carous'd:
Dissolve, and drink 'em. See, a carbuncle,
May put out both the eyes of our St Mark;
A diamond would have bought Lollia Paulina,
When she came in, like star-light, hid with
jewels,

That were the spoils of provinces; take these, And wear, and lose 'em; yet remains an earring

To purchase them again, and this whole state.
A gem, but worth a private patrimony,
Is nothing: We will eat such at a meal.
The heads of parrots, tongues of nightingales,
The brains of peacocks, and of estriches,
Shall be our food; and, could we get the phoenix,
(Though nature lost her kind) she were our dish.
Cel. Good sir, these things might move a mind
affected

With such delights; but I, whose innocence
Is all I can think wealthy, or worth th' enjoying,
And which once lost, I have nought to lose be-
yond it,

Cannot be taken with these sensual baits:
If you have conscience-

Volp. 'Tis the beggar's virtue.

If thou hast wisdom, hear me, Celia.
Thy baths shall be the juice of July-flowers,
Spirit of roses, and of violets,

The milk of unicorns, and panther's breath,
Gather'd in bags, and mix'd with Cretan wines.
Our drink shall be prepared gold, and amber;
Which we will take, until my roof whirl round
With the vertigo: And my dwarf shall dance,
My eunuch sing, my fool make up the antic,
Whilst we in changed shapes act Ovid's tales,
Thou like Europa now, and I like Jove;
Then I like Mars, and thou like Erycine;
So of the rest, 'till we have quite run through,
And wearied all the fables of the gods.
Then will I have thee in more modern forms,
Attired like some sprightly dame of France,
Brave Tuscan lady, or proud Spanish beauty;
Sometimes unto the Persian sophy's wife;
Or the grand signior's mistress; and, for change,
To one of our most artful courtezans,
Or some quick negro, or cold Russian;
And I will meet thee in as many shapes:
Where we may so transfuse our wand'ring souls
Out at our lips, and score up sums of pleasures,

That the curious shall not know How to tell them as they flow; And the envious, when they find What their number is, be pin'd.

Cel. If you have ears that will be pierc'd, or

eyes

That can be open'd; a heart, may be touch'd;
Or any part that yet sounds man about you;
If you have touch of holy saints, or Heav'n,
Do me the grace to let me 'scape. If not,
Be bountiful, and kill me. You do know,
I am a creature, hither ill betray'd,
By one, whose shame I would forget it were;
If you will deign me neither of these graces,
Yet feed your wrath, sir, rather than your lust;
(It is a vice comes nearer manliness)

And punish that unhappy crime of nature,
Which you miscall my beauty: flay my face,
Or poison it with ointments, for seducing
Your blood to this rebellion. Rub these hands,
With what may cause an eating leprosy,
E'en to my bones and marrow: Any thing
That may disfavour me, save in my honour.
And I will kneel to you, pray for you, pay down
A thousand hourly vows, sir, for your health;
Report, and think you virtuous-

Volp. Think me cold,

Frozen and impotent, and so report me!
That I had Nestor's hernia, thou wouldst think.
I do degenerate, and abuse my nation,
To play with opportunity thus long:

I should have done the act, and then have parley'd.

Yield, or I'll force thee.
Cel. O! just God.
Volp. In vain-

Bon. Forbear, foul ravisher, libidinous swine, [Leaping out from where MOSCA had placed him.

Free the forc'd lady, or thou dy'st, impostor.
But that I'm loath to snatch thy punishment
Out of the hand of justice, thou should'st, yet,
Be made the timely sacrifice of vengeance,
Before this altar, and this dross, thy idol.
Lady, let's quit the place, it is the den
Of villany; fear nought, you have a guard:
And he, e'er long, shall meet his just reward.
[Er. BON. and CEL.

Volp. Fall on me, roof, and bury me in ruin,
Become my grave, that wert my shelter. O!
I am unmask'd, unspirited, undone,
Betray'd to beggary, to infamy-

SCENE VIII.

MOSCA and VOLPONE.

Mos. Where shall I run, most wretched shame of men,

To beat out my unlucky brains!
Volp. Here, here.

What! dost thou bleed?

Mos. O, that his well-driv'n sword

Had been so covetous to have cleft me down,

Unto the navel, e'er I liv'd to see

My life, my hopes, my spirits, my patron, all
Thus desperately engaged, by my error.
Volp. Woe on thy fortune!

Mos. And my follies, sir.

Volp. Th' hast made me miserable.
Mos. And myself, sir.

Who would have thought he would have hearken'd so?

Volp. What shall we do?

Mos. I know not; if my heart

Could expiate the mischance, I'd pluck it out. Will you be pleas'd to hang me, or cut my throat; And I'll requite you, sir. Let's die like Romans, Since we have liv'd like Grecians.

Volp. Hark! who's there?

I hear some footing officers, the Saffi,
[They knock without.
Come to apprehend us! I do feel the brand
Hissing already at my forehead: Now,
Mine ears are boring.

Mos. To your couch, sir, you
Make that place good however.
Suspect what they deserve still.
baccio!

SCENE IX.

Guilty men

Signior Cor

Mos. A plot for you, sir.

Volt. Come, put not your foists upon me; I shall scent 'em.

Mos. Did you not hear it?

Volt. Yes, I hear Corbaccio
Hath made your patron there, his heir.
Mos. 'Tis true,

By my device, drawn to it by my plot,
With hope-

Volt. Your patron should reciprocate;
And you have promis'd?

Mos. For your good I did, sir.

Nay more, I told his son, brought, hid him here,
Where he might hear his father pass the deed;
Being persuaded to it by this thought, sir,
That the unnaturalness, first of the act,
And then his father's oft disclaiming him,
(Which I did mean to help on) would sure en-
rage him

To do some violence upon his parent,
On which the law should take sufficient hold,
And you be stated in a double hope:
Truth be my comfort, and my conscience,
My only aim was to dig you a fortune
Out of these two old rotten sepulchres-
Volt. I cry thee mercy, Mosca.
Mos. Worth your patience,

And your greatmerit, sir. And see the change!
Volt. Why? what success?

Mos. Most hapless! you must help, sir.
Whilst we expected th' old raven, in comes
Corvino's wife, sent hither by her husband-

Volt. What, with a present?
Mos. No, sir, on visitation:

(I'll tell you how anon) and, staying long,
The youth he grows impatient, rushes forth,
Seizeth the lady, wounds me, makes her swear
(Or he would murder her, that was his vow)
T'affirm my patron to have done her rape:
Which, how unlike it is, you see! and, hence,
With that pretext, he's gone t' accuse his father,
Defame my patron, defeat you-

Volt. Where's her husband?

Let him be sent for strait.

Mos. Sir, I'll go fetch him.

Volt. Bring him to the Scrutinco.
Mos. Sir, I will.

Volt. This must be stopt.

Mos. O, you do nobly, sir.

Alas, 'twas labour'd all, sir, for your good;
Nor was there want of counsel in the plot :
But fortune can, at any time, o'erthrow
The projects of a hundred learned clerks, sir.
Corb. What's that?

Volt. Will't please you, sir, to go along?
Mos. Patron, go on, and pray for our success.
Volp. Need makes devotion: Heav'n your la-
bour bless!
[Exeunt.

13

SCENE I.

POLITIC and PEREGRINE.

Nich. Machiavel, and monsieur Bodine, both
Were of this mind. Then, must you learn the use
And handling of your silver fork, at meals:
The metal of your glass; (these are main matters
With your Italian) and to know the hour,
When you must eat your melons, and your figs.
Per. Is that a point of state too?
Pol. Here it is.

For your Venetian, if he see a man
Preposterous in the least, he has him straight;
He has; he strips him. I'll acquaint you, sir.
I now have liv'd here ('tis some fourteen months)
Within the first week of landing here,
All took me for a citizen of Venice,
I knew the forms so well-

I care not greatly who knows,) to serve the state
Of Venice with red herrings, for three years,
And at a certain rate, from Rotterdam,
Where I have correspondence. There's a letter,
Sent me from one o' th' States, and to that pur-
pose;

He cannot write his name, but that's his mark.
Per. He is a chandler?

Pol. No, a cheesemonger.

There are some others too, with whom I treat,
About the same negociation;

And, I will undertake it: For, 'tis thus,
I'll do't with ease, I've cast it all. Your hoigh
Carries but three men in her, and a boy:
And she shall make me three returns a year:
So, if there come but one of three, I save,
If two, I can defalk. But, this is now,
If my main project fail.

Per. Then you have others?

Pol. I should be loth to draw the subtle air Of such a place, without my thousand aims. I'll not dissemble, sir, where'er I come, I love to be considerative; and 'tis true, I have, at my free hours, thought upon Some certain goods, unto the state of Venice, Which I do call my cautio and, sir, which I mean (in hope of pensio propound To the great council, the the forty, So to the ten. My mea bade alreadyPer. By whom?

Pol. Sir, one, that, th

scure,

Yet he can sway, and the A commandadore.

his place be ob

I hear him. He's

Not to anticipate

Per. Ay, sir?

Pol. Nor reveal

A circumstance-My paper is not with me. Per. O, but you can remember, sir.

Pol. My first is,

Concerning tinder-boxes. You must know,
No family is here without its box;
Now, sir, it being so portable a thing,
Put case, that you or I were ill affected
Unto the state, sir; with it in our pockets,

Per. Indeed, sir?

Pol. Or I will lose my labour.

Per. 'My faith, that's much.

Pol. Nay, sir, conceive me. 'Twill cost me, in onions,

Some thirty livres

Per. Which is one pound sterling.

Pol. Besides my water-works: for this I do, sir.
First, I bring in your ship, 'twixt two brick-walls;
(But those the state shall venture) on the one
I strain me a fair tarpaulin; and, in that,
I stick my onions, cut in halves; the other
Is full of loop-holes, out at which I thrust
The noses of my bellows; and, those bellows
I keep, with water-works, in perpetual motion,
(Which is the easiest matter of a hundred.)
Now, sir, your onion, which doth naturally
Attract th' infection, and your bellows blowing
The air upon him, will shew (instantly)
By his chang'd colour, if there be contagion,
Or else, remain as fair, as at the first.
Now 'tis known, 'tis nothing.

Per. You are right, sir.
Pol. I would I had my note.
Per. 'Faith, so would I :

But, you ha' done well, for once, sir.

Pol. Were I false,

Or would be made so, I could shew you reasons, How I could sell this state, now, to the Turk; Spite of their galleys, or their

Per. Pray you, sir Pol.

Pol. I have 'em not about me.
Per. That I fear'd.

They're there, sir?

Pol. No, this is my diary,

Wherein I note my actions of the day.
Per. 'Pray you, let's see, sir. What is here?
Notandum,

A rat had gnawn my spur-leathers; notwithstanding,

I put on new, and did go forth: But, first,
I threw three beans over the threshold. Item,
I went, and bought two tooth-picks, whereof one
I burst immediately, in a discourse

I

GRINE.

Lady. Where should this loose knight be, trow? sure, he's hous'd.

Nano. Why, then he's fast.

Lady. Ay, he plays both, with me:

pray you, stay. This heat will do more harm To my complexion, than his heart is worth.

(I do not care to hinder, but to take him :)
How it comes off!

Wom. My master's yonder.
Lady. Where?

Wom. With a young gentleman.
Lady. That same's the party!

In man's apparel. 'Pray you, sir, jog my knight:
I will be tender to his reputation,

However he demerit.

Pol. My lady!

Per. Where?

Pol. 'Tis she indeed, sir, you shall know her.
She is,

Were she not mine, a lady of that merit,
For fashion, and behaviour; and, for beauty,
I durst compare-

Per. It seems you are not jealous,

That dare commend her.

Pol. Nay, and for discourse

Per. Being your wife, she cannot miss that.
Pol. Madam,

Here is a gentleman, 'pray you use him fairly,
He seems a youth, but he is-
Lady. None?

Pol. Yes, one

Has put his face, as soon, into the world-
Lady. You mean, as early? but to-day?
Pol. How's this!

Lady. Why in this habit, sir? You apprehend