Chapter LI: Act III: Scene I.1644

[_Enter_] MOSCA.

_Mos._ I fear I shall begin to grow in love
With my dear self, and my most prosp’rous parts,
They do so spring and burgeon; I can feel
A whimsy i’ my blood: I know not how,
Success hath made me wanton. I could skip 5
Out of my skin now, like a subtle snake,
I am so limber. O! your parasite
Is a most precious thing, dropt from above,
Not bred ’mongst clods and clodpoles, here on earth.
I muse, the mystery[1645] was not made a science, 10
It is so liberally profest! Almost
All the wise world is little else, in nature,
But parasites or sub-parasites. And yet
I mean not those that have your bare town-art,
To know who’s fit to feed them; have no house, 15
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, 20
Make their revenue out of leg[1646] 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; 25
Turn short as doth a swallow; and be here,
And there, and here, and yonder, all at once;
Present to any humour, all occasion;
And change a visor swifter than a thought! 29
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.

SCENE II.[1647]

MOSCA. [_Enter_] BONARIO.

Who’s this? Bonario, old Corbaccio’s son?
The person I was bound to seek. Fair sir,
You are happ’ly met.

_Bon._ That cannot be by thee.

_Mos._ Why, sir?

_Bon._ Nay, pray thee know thy way, and leave me:
I would be loth to interchange discourse 5
With such a mate[1648] as thou art.

_Mos._ Courteous sir,
Scorn not my poverty.

_Bon._ Not I, by heaven;
But thou shalt give me leave to hate thy baseness.

_Mos._ Baseness!

_Bon._ Ay; answer me, is not thy sloth
Sufficient argument? thy flattery? 10
Thy means of feeding?

_Mos._ Heaven be good to me!
These imputations are too common, sir,
And easily stuck on virtue when she’s poor.
You are unequal[1649] to me, and however
Your sentence may be righteous, yet you are not, 15
That, ere you know me, thus proceed in censure:
St. Mark bear witness ’gainst you, ’t is inhuman.
[_Weeps._]

_Bon._ [_Aside._] What! does he weep? the sign is soft and good:
I do repent me that I was so harsh.

_Mos._ ’T is true, that, sway’d by strong necessity, 20
I am enforc’d to eat my careful bread
With too much obsequy; ’t is 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 25
Base offices, in rending friends asunder,
Dividing families, betraying counsels,
Whisp’ring false lies, or mining men with praises,
Train’d their credulity with perjuries,
Corrupted chastity, or am in love 30
With mine own tender ease, but would not rather
Prove the most rugged and laborious course,
That might redeem my present estimation,
Let me here perish, in all hope of goodness.

_Bon._ [_Aside._] This cannot be a personated passion.— 35
I was to blame, so to mistake thy nature;
Prithee forgive me: and speak out thy business.

_Mos._ Sir, it concerns you; and though I may seem
At first to make a main offence in manners,
And in my gratitude unto my master, 40
Yet for the pure love which I bear all right,
And hatred of the wrong, I must reveal it.
This very hour your father is in purpose
To disinherit you——

_Bon._ How!

_Mos._ And thrust you forth,
As a mere stranger to his blood: ’t is true, sir.
The work no way engageth me, but as 45
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. 50

_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 55
Your piety; and form’d, no doubt, it is
From your own simple innocence, which makes
Your wrong more monstrous and abhorr’d. But, sir,
I now will tell you more. This very minute,
It is, or will be doing; and if you 60
Shall be but pleas’d to go with me, I ’ll bring you,
I dare not say where you shall see, but where
Your ear shall be a witness of the deed;
Hear yourself written bastard, and profest
The common issue of the earth.

_Bon._ I’m maz’d! 65

_Mos._ Sir, if I do it not, draw your just sword,
And score your vengeance on my front and face;
Mark me your villain: you have too much wrong,
And I do suffer for you, sir. My heart 69
Weeps blood in anguish——

_Bon._ Lead; I follow thee. [_Exeunt._]

SCENE III.[1650]

[_Enter_] VOLPONE, NANO, ANDROGYNO, CASTRONE.

_Volp._ Mosca stays long, methinks.—Bring forth your sports,
And help to make the wretched time more sweet.

_Nan._ “Dwarf, fool, and eunuch, well met here we be.
A question it were now, whether of us three,
Being all the known delicates of a rich man, 5
In pleasing him, claim the precedency can?”

_Cas._ “I claim for myself.”

_And._ “And so doth the fool.”

_Nan._ “’T is foolish indeed: let me set you both to school.
First for your dwarf, he’s little and witty,
And everything, as it is little, is pretty; 10
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? 14
Beside, this feat[1651] body of mine doth not crave
Half the meat, drink, and cloth, one of your bulks 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.” 20
_One knocks._

_Volp._ Who’s there? My couch; away! look! Nano, see:
[_Exeunt_ AND. _and_ CAS.]
Give me my caps first—go, inquire. [_Exit_ NANO.] Now, Cupid
Send it be Mosca, and with fair return!

_Nan._ [_within._] It is the beauteous madam—

_Volp._ Would-be—is it?

_Nan._ The same.

_Volp._ Now torment on me! Squire her in; 25
For she will enter, or dwell here for ever:
Nay, quickly. [_Retires to his couch._] 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! 31

SCENE IV.[1652]

[_To him enter_] NANO, LADY POLITIC WOULD-BE.

_Lady P._ I thank you, good sir. Pray you signify
Unto your patron I am here.—This band
Shows 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 5
Most favourably to-day! It is no matter:
’T is well enough.
[_Enter_ 1 Waiting-woman.]
Look, see these petulant things,
How they have done this!

_Volp._ [_Aside._] I do feel the fever
Ent’ring in at mine ears; O, for a charm,
To fright it hence!

_Lady P._ Come nearer: is this curl 10
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 is your fellow? call her. [_Exit_ 1 Woman.]

_Nan._ Now, St. Mark
Deliver us! anon she ’ll beat her women, 15
Because her nose is red.

[_Re-enter_ 1 _with_ 2 Woman.]

_Lady P._ I pray you view
This tire,[1653] forsooth: are all things apt, or no?

_1 Wom._ One hair a little here sticks out, forsooth.

_Lady P._ Does ’t so, forsooth! and where was your dear sight,
When it did so, forsooth! What now! bird-ey’d?[1654] 20
And you, too? Pray you, both approach and mend it.
Now, by that light I muse you ’re not asham’d!
I, that have preach’d these things so oft unto you,
Read you the principles, argu’d all the grounds,
Disputed every fitness, every grace, 25
Call’d you to counsel of so frequent dressings—

_Nan._ (_Aside._) More carefully than of your fame or honour.

_Lady P._ Made you acquainted what an ample dowry
The knowledge of these things would be unto you,
Able alone to get you noble husbands 30
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! 35
Well, go your ways, and stay i’ the next room.
This fucus[1655] was too coarse too; it ’s no matter.—
Good sir, you ’ll give ’em entertainment?
[_Exeunt_ NANO _and_ Waiting-women.]

_Volp._ The storm comes toward me.

_Lady P._ [_Goes to the couch._] How does my Volpone?

_Volp._ Troubl’d with noise, I cannot sleep; I dreamt 40
That a strange fury ent’red now my house,
And, with the dreadful tempest of her breath,
Did cleave my roof asunder.

_Lady P._ Believe me, and I
Had the most fearful dream, could I remember ’t:——

_Volp._ [_Aside._] Out on my fate! I have given her the occasion 45
How to torment me: she will tell me hers.

_Lady P._ 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. 50

_Lady P._ 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 elecampane[1656] root, myrobalanes[1657]——

_Volp._ Ay me, I have ta’en a grasshopper by the wing![1658] 55

_Lady P._ Burnt silk and amber. You have muscadel
Good i’ the house——

_Volp._ You will not drink, and part?

_Lady P._ No, fear not that. I doubt we shall not get
Some English saffron, half a dram would serve; 59
Your sixteen cloves, a little musk, dried mints;
Bugloss, and barley-meal——

_Volp._ [_Aside._] She ’s in again!
Before I feign’d diseases, now I have one.

_Lady P._ And these appli’d with a right scarlet cloth.

_Volp._ [_Aside._] Another flood of words! a very torrent!

_Lady P._ Shall I, sir, make you a poultice?

_Volp._ No, no, no. 65
I ’m very well, you need prescribe no more.

_Lady P._ I have a little studied physic; but now
I ’m all for music, save, i’ the forenoons,
An hour or two for painting. I would have
A lady, indeed, to have all letters and arts, 70
Be able to discourse, to write, to paint,
But principal, as Plato holds, your music,
And so does wise Pythagoras, I take it,
Is your true rapture: when there is concent[1659]
In face, in voice, and clothes: and is, indeed, 75
Out sex’s chiefest ornament.

_Volp._ The poet
As old in time as Plato, and as knowing,
Says that your highest female grace is silence.

_Lady P._ Which of your poets? Petrarch, or Tasso, or Dante?
Guarini? Ariosto? Aretine? 80
Cieco di Hadria? I have read them all.

_Volp._ [_Aside._] Is everything a cause to my destruction?

_Lady P._ I think I have two or three of ’em about me.

_Volp._ [_Aside._] The sun, the sea, will sooner both stand still 84
Than her eternal tongue! nothing can scape it.

_Lady P._ Here ’s Pastor Fido——

_Volp._ [_Aside._ ] Profess obstinate silence;
That ’s now my safest.

_Lady P._ 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 Montagnié: 90
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, trusted ’em with much:
Dante is hard, and few can understand him. 95
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 P._ Why, in such cases, we must cure ourselves,
Make use of our philosophy——

_Volp._ Oh me! 100

_Lady P._ And as we find our passions do rebel,
Encounter them 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 judgment, 105
And cloud the understanding, than too much
Settling and fixing, and, as ’t were, subsiding
Upon one object. For the incorporating
Or these same outward things, into that part
Which we call mental, leaves some certain faeces 110
That stop the organs, and, as Plato says,
Assassinate our knowledge.

_Volp._ [_Aside._] Now, the spirit
Of patience help me!

_Lady P._ Come, in faith, I must
Visit you more a days; and make you well:
Laugh and be lusty.

_Volp._ [_Aside._] My good angel save me! 115

_Lady P._ There was but one sole man in all the world
With whom I e’er could sympathise; and he
Would lie you, often, three, four hours together
To hear me speak; and be sometime so rapt,
As he would answer me quite from the purpose, 120
Like you, and you are like him, just. I ’ll discourse,
An ’t be but only, sir, to bring you asleep,
How we did spend our time and loves together,
For some six years.

_Volp._ Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!

_Lady P._ For we were coaetanei,[1660] and brought up—— 125

_Volp._ Some power, some fate, some fortune rescue me!

SCENE V.[1661]

[_To them enter_] MOSCA.

_Mos._ God save you, madam!

_Lady P._ 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 5
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 10
She has let fall. For hell’s sake, rid her hence.

_Mos._ Has she presented?

_Volp._ Oh, I do not care;
I ’ll take her absence upon any price,
With any loss.

_Mos._ Madam——

_Lady P._ I ha’ brought your patron
A toy, a cap here, of mine own work.

_Mos._ ’T is well. 15
I had forgot to tell you I saw your knight
Where you would little think it.——

_Lady P._ Where?

_Mos._ Marry,
Where yet, if you make haste, you may apprehend him,
Rowing upon the water in a gondole,
With the most cunning courtesan of Venice. 20

_Lady P._ Is ’t true?

_Mos._ Pursue ’em, and believe your eyes:
Leave me to make your gift.
[_Exit_ LADY P. _hastily_.]
I knew ’t would 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. 25
Now to my hopes, what sayst thou?

[_Re-enter_ LADY P. WOULD-BE.]

_Lady P._ But do you hear, sir?——

_Volp._ Again! I fear a paroxysm.

_Lady P._ Which way
Row’d they together?

_Mos._ Toward the Rialto.

_Lady P._ I pray you lend me your dwarf. 29

_Mos._ I pray you take him. [_Exit_ LADY P.]
Your hopes, sir, are like happy blossoms, fair,
And promise timely fruit, if you will stay
But the maturing; keep you at your couch,
Corbaccio will arrive straight, with the will;
When he is gone, I’ll tell you more. [_Exit._]

_Volp._ My blood, 35
My spirits are return’d; I am alive:
And, like your wanton gamester at primero,
Whose thought had whisper’d to him, not go[1662] less,
Methinks I lie, and draw[1663]——for an encounter.[1663]

SCENE VI.[1664]

[_Enter_] MOSCA, BONARIO.

_Mos._ Sir, here conceal’d [_Opening a door_] you may hear all.
But, pray you,
Have patience, sir; [_One knocks._] the same’s your father knocks:
I am compell’d to leave you. [_Exit._]

_Bon._ Do so.—Yet
Cannot my thought imagine this a truth.
[_Goes in._]

SCENE VII.[1665]

[_Enter_] MOSCA, CORVINO, CELIA.—

_Mos._ Death on me! you are come too soon, what meant you?
Did not I say I would send?

_Corv._ Yes, but I fear’d
You might forget it, and then they prevent us.

_Mos._ Prevent! [_Aside._] Did e’er man haste so for his horns?
A courtier would not ply it so for a place. 5
—Well, now there is no helping it, stay here;
I’ll presently return. [_Exit._]

_Corv._ Where are you, Celia?
You know not wherefore I have brought you hither?

_Cel._ Not well, except you told me.

_Corv._ Now I will:
Hark hither. [_They retire to one side._]

[_Re-enter_ MOSCA.]

_Mos._ (_to_ BONARIO) Sir, your father hath sent word,
It will be half an hour ere he come; 11
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. 15

_Bon._ Yes, I will stay there.—[_Aside._] I do doubt this fellow.
[_Exit._]

_Mos._ [_Looking after him._] There; he is far enough;
he can hear nothing:
And for his father, I can keep him off.[1666]

_Corv._ Nay, now, there is no starting back, and therefore,
Resolve upon it: I have so decreed. 20
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; 25
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’m not mad; 29
Not horn-mad, you see? Go to, show yourself
Obedient, and a wife.

_Cel._ O heaven!

_Corv._ I say it,
Do so.

_Cel._ Was this the train?

_Corv._ I ’ve 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 35
For my recovery: wherefore, if you be
Loyal and mine, be won, respect my venture.

_Cel._ Before your honour?

_Corv._ Honour! tut, a breath:
There’s no such thing in nature; a mere term
Invented to awe fools. What is my gold 40
The worse for touching, clothes for being look’d on?
Why, this’s no more. An old decrepit wretch,
That has no sense, no 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._ [_Aside._] Lord! what spirit 46
Is this hath ent’red 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, 50
Whose lips are i’ my pocket? Save yourself,
(If you’ll proclaim’t, you may,) I know no other
Should come to know it.

_Cel._ Are heaven and saints then nothing?
Will they be blind or stupid?

_Corv._ How!

_Cel._ Good sir,
Be jealous still, emulate them; and think 55
What hate they burn with toward every sin.

_Corv._ 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, 60
Knew every quirk within lust’s labyrinth,
And were profest critic in lechery;
And I would look upon him, and applaud him,
This were a sin: but here, ’t is contrary,
A pious work, mere charity for physic, 65
And honest polity, to assure mine own.

_Cel._ O heaven! 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._ [_Advancing._] Please you draw near, sir.

_Corv._ Come on, what——
You will not be rebellious? By that light—— 71

_Mos._ Sir, Signior Corvino, here, is come to see you.

_Volp._ Oh!

_Mos._ And hearing of the consultation had,
So lately, for your health, is come to offer,
Or rather, sir, to prostitute——

_Corv._ Thanks, sweet Mosca. 75

_Mos._ Freely, unask’d, or unintreated——

_Corv._ Well.

_Mos._ As the true fervent instance of his love,
His own most fair and proper wife; the beauty
Only of price in Venice——

_Corv._ ’T is well urg’d.

_Mos._ To be your comfortress, and to preserve you. 80

_Volp._ Alas, I am past, already! Pray you, thank him
For his good care and promptness; but for that,
’T is a vain labour e’en to fight ’gainst heaven;
Applying fire to stone—uh, uh, uh, uh!
[_Coughing._]
Making a dead leaf grow again. I take 85
His wishes gently, though; and you may tell him
What I have done for him: marry, my state is hopeless.
Will him to pray for me; and to use his fortune
With reverence when he comes to’t.

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

_Corv._ Heart of my father! 90
Wilt thou persist thus? Come, I pray thee, come.
Thou seest ’t is 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 anything——

_Corv._ Be damn’d! 95
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 rochet![1667]—Do not tempt me; come,
Yield, I am loth—Death! I will buy some slave 100
Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him alive;
And at my windore hang you forth, devising
Some monstrous crime, which I, in capital letters,
Will eat into thy flesh with aquafortis, 104
And burning cor’sives,[1668] on this stubborn breast.
Now, by the blood thou hast incens’d, I’ll do it!

_Cel._ Sir, what you please, you may; I am your martyr.

_Corv._ Be not thus obstinate, I ha’ not deserv’d it:
Think who it is intreats you. Prithee, sweet;—
Good faith, thou shalt have jewels, gowns, attires, 110
What thou wilt think, and ask. Do but go 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.

_Corv._ No, no. 115
She has watch’d her time. God’s precious, this is scurvy,
’T is very scurvy; and you are——

_Mos._ Nay, good sir.

_Corv._ 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! 120
She will consider.

_Cel._ Would my life would serve
To satisfy——

_Corv._ ’Sdeath! if she would but speak to him,
And save my reputation, ’t were somewhat;
But spitefully to affect my utter ruin!

_Mos._ Ay, now you have put your fortune in her hands. 125
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, 130
Thou mayest redeem all yet; I’ll say no more:
If not, esteem yourself as lost. Nay, stay there.
[_Exit with_ MOSCA.]

_Cel._ O God, and his good angels! whither, whither,
Is shame fled human breasts? that with such ease, 134
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.
_He leaps from his couch._
That never tasted the true heaven of love. 140
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 cope-man.[1669]
Why art thou maz’d to see me thus reviv’d?
Rather applaud thy beauty’s miracle; 146
’T is 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 windore: ay, before 150
I would have left my practice, for thy love,
In varying figures. I would have contended
With the blue Proteus, or the horned flood.[1670]
Now art thou welcome.

_Cel._ Sir!

_Volp._ Nay, fly me not,
Nor let thy false imagination 155
That 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, 160
For entertainment of the great Valois,
I acted young Antinous; and attracted
The eyes and ears of all the ladies present,
To admire each graceful gesture, note, and footing. [_Sings._]

Song[1671]

Come, my Celia, let us prove 165
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; 170
But if once we lose this light,
’T is with us perpetual night.
Why should we defer our joys?
Fame and rumour are but toys.
Cannot we delude the eyes 175
Of a few poor household spies?
Or his easier ears beguile,
Thus removed by our wile?
’T is no sin love’s fruits to steal;
But the sweet thefts to reveal: 180
To be taken, to be seen,
These have crimes accounted been.

_Cel._ Some serene[1672] blast me, or dire lightning strike
This my offending face!

_Volp._ Why droops my Celia?
Thou hast, in place of a base husband found 185
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[1673]
Then the brave Aegyptian queen carous’d: 191
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 195
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. 200
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 205
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 beyond it,
Cannot be taken with these sensual baits:
If you have conscience——

_Volp._ ’T is the beggar’s virtue;
If thou hast wisdom, hear me, Celia. 211
Thy baths shall be the juice of July-flowers,
Spirit of roses, and of violets,
The milk of unicorns, and panthers’ breath 214
Gather’d in bags, and mix’d with Cretan wines.
Our drink shall be prepared gold and amber;
Which we will take until my root whirl round
With the vertigo: and my dwarf shall dance,
My eunuch sing, my fool make up the antic, 219
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. 224
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 courtesans, 230
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,
[_Sings._]
That the curious shall not know 235
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 that may be touch’d— 240
Or any part that yet sounds man about you—
If you have touch of holy saints—or heaven—
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, 245
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, 250
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: anything 255
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? 260
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. [_Seizes her._]

_Cel._ O! just God!

_Volp._ In vain—— 265

_Bon._ (_leaps out from where_ MOSCA _had placed him_.) Forbear, foul
ravisher! libidinous swine!
Free the forc’d lady, or thou diest, impostor.
But that I’m loth to snatch thy punishment
Out of the hand of justice, thou shouldst yet
Be made the timely sacrifice of vengeance, 270
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 ere long shall meet his just reward. 274
[_Exeunt_ 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.][1674]

VOLPONE. [_Enter_] MOSCA, [_wounded and bleeding_.]

_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 courteous to have cleft me down
Unto the navel, ere I liv’d to see 5
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._ Thou hast made me miserable.

_Mos._ And myself, sir.
Who would have thought he would have heark’ned so? 10

_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,[1675]
Since we have liv’d like Grecians.

_They knock without._

_Volp._ Hark! who’s there? 15
I hear some footing; officers, the saffi,[1676]
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. [VOLPONE _lies down as before_.]
Guilty men 20
Suspect what they deserve still. Signior Corbaccio!

[SCENE IX.][1677]

[_To them enter_] CORBACCIO.

_Corb._ Why, how now, Mosca?

_Mos._ O, undone, amaz’d, sir.
Your son, I know not by what accident,
Acquainted with your purpose to my patron,
Touching your will, and making him your heir,
Ent’red our house with violence, his sword drawn, 5
Sought for you, called you wretch, unnatural,
Vow’d he would kill you.

_Corb._ Me!

_Mos._ Yes, and my patron.

_Corb._ This act shall disinherit him indeed:
Here is the will.

_Mos._ ’T is well, sir.

_Corb._ Right and well:
Be you as careful now for me.

[_Enter_ VOLTORE _behind_.]

_Mos._ My life, sir, 10
Is not more tender’d; I am only yours.

_Corb._ How does he? Will he die shortly, think’st thou?

_Mos._ I fear
He’ll outlast May.

_Corb._ To-day?

_Mos._ No, last out May, sir.

_Corb._ Couldst thou not gi’ him a dram?

_Mos._ O, by no means, sir.

_Corb._ Nay, I’ll not bid you.

_Volt._ [_coming forward._] This is a knave, I see. 15

_Mos._ [_Aside, seeing_ VOLT.] How! Signior Voltore! did he hear me?

_Volt._ Parasite!

_Mos._ Who ’s that?—O, sir, most timely welcome—

_Volt._ Scarce,
To the discovery of your tricks, I fear.
You are his, _only_? And mine also, are you not?

_Mos._ Who? I, sir!

_Volt._ You, sir. What device is this 20
About a will?

_Mos._ A plot for you, sir.

_Volt._ Come,
Put not your foists[1678] 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._ ’T is true,
By my device, drawn to it by my plot, 25
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, 30
That the unnaturalness, first, of the act,
And then his father’s oft disclaiming in him,
(Which I did mean t’ help on), would sure enrage him
To do some violence upon his parent, 34
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 rotten sepulchres——

_Volt._ I cry thee mercy, Mosca.

_Mos._ —Worth your patience, 40
And your great merit, 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; 45
(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: 50
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 straight.

_Mos._ Sir, I ’ll go fetch him.

_Volt._ Bring him to the Scrutineo.[1679]

_Mos._ Sir, I will. 55

_Volt._ This must be stopt.

_Mos._ O you do nobly, sir.
Alas, ’t was 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. 60

_Corb._ [_listening._] What ’s that?

_Volt._ Wilt please you, sir, to go along?
[_Exit_ CORBACCIO, _followed by_ VOLTORE.]

_Mos._ Patron, go in, and pray for our success.

_Volp._ [_rising from his couch._] Need makes devotion: heaven your
labour bless!
[_Exeunt._]