Nan. 'Cause here the delight of each sex thou can'st vary?

And. Alas! those pleasures be stale, and forsaken;

No, 'tis your fool wherewith I am so taken,
The only one creature that I can call blessed:
For all other forms I have proved most distressed.
Nan. Spoke true, as thou wert in Pythagoras

still.

This learned opinion we celebrate will, Fellow eunuch (as behoves us) with all our wit and art,

To dignify that, whereof ourselves are so great and special a part.

Vol. Now, very, very pretty: Mosca, this
Was thy invention?

Mos. If it please my patron, not else.
Vol. It doth, good Mosca.

Mos. Then it was, sir.

SONG.

Fools, they are the only nation
Worth men's envy, or admiration ;
Free from care, or sorrow-taking,
Selves and others merry-making:
All they speak, or do, is sterling.
Your fool he is your great man's darling,
And your lady's sport and pleasure;
Tongue and bauble are his treasure.
Ev'n his face begetteth laughter,
And he speaks truth free from slaughter;
He's the grace of ev'ry feast,
And sometimes the chiefest guest:
Hath his trencher, and his stool,
When wit waits upon the fool.
O, who would not be
He, he, he?

Volp. Who's that? Away, look, Mosca.

[One knocks without.

I know him by his knock.

Volp. Fetch me my gown,

What thoughts he has (without) now, as he walks,
That this might be the last gift he should give;
That this would fetch you; if you died to-day,
And gave him all, what he should be to-morrow:
What large return would come of all his ventures;
How he should worshipped be, and reverenced;
Ride, with his furs and foot-cloaths; waited on
By herds of fools and clients; have clear way
Made for his moyle, as lettered as himself;
Be called the great and learned advocate:
And then concludes, there's naught impossible.
Volp. Yes, to be learned, Mosca.
Mos. O, no: rich

Implies it. Hood an ass with reverend purple,
So you can hide his two ambitious ears,
And he shall pass for a cathedral doctor.

Volp. My caps, my caps, good Mosca : fetch

him in.

Mos. Stay, sir, your ointment for your eyes, Volp. That's true;

Dispatch, dispatch: I long to have possession Of my new present.

Mos. That, and thousands more,

I hope to see you lord of.

Volp. Thanks, kind Mosca.

Mos. And that, when I am lost in blended dust, An hundred such as I am, in successionVolp. Nay, that were too much, Mosca. Mos. You shall live,

Still, to delude these harpies.

Volp. Loving Mosca,

'Tis well; my pillow, now, and let him enter. Now, my feigned cough, my phthisic, and my gout. My apoplexy, palsy, and catarrhs,

Help, with your forced functions, this my posture, Wherein, these three years, I have milked their hopes.

He comes, I hear him, uh, uh, uh, uh, O.

SCENE III.

MOSCA, VOLTORE, and VOLPONE. Mos. You still are, what you were, sir. Only

you

(Of all the rest) are he, commands his love:

With early visitation, and kind notes
Of your good meaning to him, which I know
Cannot but come most grateful. Patron, sir,
Here's signior Voltore is come-

Volp. What say you?

Mos. Sir, signior Voltore is come this morning, To visit you.

Volp. I thank him.

Mos. And hath brought

A piece of antique plate, bought of St Mark, With which he here presents you.

Volp. He is welcome.

Pray him to come more often.

Mos. Yes.

Volp. Bring him near; where is he? I long to feel his hand.

Mos. The plate is here, sir.
Volt. How fare you, sir?

Volp. I thank you, signior Voltore. Where is the plate? mine eyes are bad. Volt. I'm sorry

To see you still thus weak.

Mos. That he is not weaker.
Volp. You are too munificent.
Volt. No, sir, would to Heaven,

I could as well give health to you, as that plate. Volp. You give, sir, what you can. I thank you. Your love

Hath taste in this, and shall not be unanswered. I pray you see me often.

Volt. Yes, I shall, sir.

Volp. Be not far from me.

Mos. Do you observe that, sir?

Volp. Hearken unto me still: it will concern you. Mos. You are a happy man, sir, know your good.

Volp. I cannot now last long

Mos. You are his heir, sir.
Volt. Am I?

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;
Give forked counsel; take provoking gold
On either hand, and put it up: These men,
He knew, would thrive with their humility.
And, for his part, he thought he should be blessed,
To have his heir of such a suffering spirit,
So wise, so grave, of so perplexed a tongue,
And loud withal, that could not wag, nor scarce
Lie still, without a fee; when every word
Your worship but lets fall, is a cecchine!
Who's that? one knocks; I would not have you
seen, sir.
[Another knocks.
And yet-pretend you came, and went in haste;
I'll fashion an excuse. And, gentle sir,
When you do come to swim in golden lard,
Up to the arms in honey, that your chin
Is borne up stiff with fatness of the flood,
Think on your vassal; but remember me:
I ha' not been your worst of clients.
Volt. Mosca-

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,
Put business i' your face.

Volp. Excellent Mosca!

Come hither, let me kiss thee.
Mos. Keep you still, sir,

go

Volt. But Mosca

Mos. Age will conquer.

Volt. Pr'ythee hear me.

Am I inscribed his heir for certain?

Mos. Are you?

I do beseech you, sir, you will vouchsafe
To write me i' your family. All my hopes
Depend upon your worship. I am lost,
Except the rising sun do shine on me.

Volt. It shall both shine and warm thee, Mosca.
Mos. Sir,

I am a man that have not done your love
All the worst offices: Here I wear your keys,
See all your coffers and your caskets locked,
Keep the poor inventory of your jewels,
Your plate, and monies; I am your steward, sir,
Husband your goods are here.

Volt. But am I sole heir?

Mos. Without a partner, sir, confirmed this morning;

The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry
Upon the parchment.

Volt. Happy, happy me!

By what good chance, sweet Mosca ?
Mos. Your desert, sir;

I know no second cause.

Volt. Thy modesty

Is loth to know it; well, we shall requite it.
Mos. He ever liked your course, sir; that first
took him.

I oft have heard him say, how he admired .
Men of your large profession, that could speak
To every cause, and things mere contraries,
'Till they were hoarse again, yet all be law;
That, with most quick agility, could turn,

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
A wretch, who is, indeed, more impotent
Than this can feign to be; yet hopes to hop
Over his grave. Signior Corbaccio!
You're very welcome, sir.

Corb. How does your patron?

Mos. Troth, as he did, sir; no amends.
Corb. What? mends he?

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
An opiate here from mine own doctor-
Mos. He will not hear of drugs.

Corb. Why? I myself

Stood by, while 'twas made; saw all the ingre

dients,

And know it cannot but most gently work.
My life for his, 'tis but to make him sleep.
Volp. Ay, his last sleep, if he would take it.
Mos. Sir, he has no faith in physic.
Corb. Say you? say you?

Mos. He has no faith in physic: he does think Most of your doctors are the greater danger,

Forth the resolved corners of his eyes.

Corb. Is't possible? yet I am better, ha! How does he, with the swimming of his head?

Mos. O, sir, 'tis past the Scotomy; he now Hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort: You hardly can perceive him that he breathes. Corb. Excellent, excellent, sure I shall out-last him:

This makes me young again a score of years.
Mos. I was coming for you, sir.
Corb. Has he made his will?

What has he given me ?

Mos. No, sir.

Corb. Nothing? ha?

Mos. He has not made his will, sir.

Corb. Oh, oh, oh.

What, then, did Voltore, the lawyer, here?

Mos. He smelt a carcase, sir, when he but heard

My master was about his testament;
As I did urge him to it, for your good——

The stream of your diverted love hath thrown you
Upon my master, and made him your heir:
He cannot be so stupid, or stone-dead,
But out of conscience, and mere gratitude-
Corb. He must pronounce me his.
Mos. 'Tis true.

Corb. This plot did I think on before.
Mos. I do believe it.

Corb. Do you not believe it?
Mos. Yes, sir.

Corb. Mine own project.

Mos. Which when he hath done, sir→
Corb. Published me his heir?

Mos. And you so certain to survive him-
Corb. Ay.

Mos. Being so lusty a man→

Corb. 'Tis true.

Mos. Yes, sir

Corb. I thought on that too. See, how he should be

The very organ, to express my thoughts!

Mos. You have not only done yourself a good-
Corb. But multiplied it on my son?
Mos. 'Tis right, sir.

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

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 pu

nishment

Is avarice, to itself?

Mos. Ay, with our help, sir.

Volp. So many cares, so many maladies,
So many fears attending on old age,
Yea, death so often call'd on, as no wish

Can be more frequent with 'em, their limbs faint,

Their senses dull, their seeing, hearing, going,
All dead before them; yea, their very teeth,
Their instruments of eating, failing them:
Yet this is reckon'd life! Nay, here was one,
Is now gone home, that wishes to live longer!
Feels not his gout, nor palsy, feigns himself
Younger by scores of years, flatters his age,
With confident belying it, hopes he may
With charms, like son, have his youth re-
stored:

And with these thoughts so battens, as if fate
Would be as easily cheated on, as he,

third?

And all turns air! Who's that there, now? a [Another knocks. Mos. Close, to your couch again: I hear his

voice.

It is Corvino, our spruce merchant.
Volp. Dead.

Mos. Another bout, sir, with your eyes. Who's there?

SCENE V.

Mosco, CORVINO, and VOLPONE.
Mos. Signior Corvino! come most wish'd for! O
How happy were you, if you knew it, now!
Coro. Why? what? wherein?

Mos. The tardy hour is come, sir.
Corv. He is not dead?

Mos. Not dead, sir, but as good;

He knows no man.

Corv. How shall I do then?

Mos. Why, sir?

Corv. I have brought him here a pearl.
Mos. Perhaps he has

So much remembrance left as to know you, sir;
He still calls on you; nothing but your name
Is in his mouth: is your pearl orient, sir?

Corv. Venice was never owner of the like.
Volp. Signior Corvino.

Mos. Hark.

Volp. Signior Corvino.

Mos. He calls you, step and give it him. He's

here, sir,

And he has brought you a rich pearl.
Corv. How do you, sir?

Tell him it doubles the twelfth caract.
Mos. Sir,

He cannot understand, his hearing's gone;
And yet it comforts him to see you————
Corv. Say

I have a diamond for him too.

Mos. Best shew't, sir,

Put it into his hand; 'tis only there
He apprehends: he has his feeling yet:
See, how he grasps it!

Corv. 'Las, good gentleman!
How pitiful the sight is!

Mos. Tut, forget, sir.

The weeping of an heir should still be laughter, Under a visor.

Coro. 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. Coro. O, my dear Mosca. Does he not perceive us? [They embrace. Mos. No more than a blind harper. He knows

Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars, Gipsies, and Jews, and Blackamoors, when he was drunk.

Knew you not that, sir? 'Tis the common fable. The dwarf, the fool, the eunuch are all his ; He's the true father of his family,

In all, save me: but he has giv'n 'em nothing. Corv. 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 cheeks,

Cover'd with hide, instead of skin: (Nay, help, sir,)

That look like frozen dish-clouts, set on end. Corv. Or, like an old smok'd wall, on which the rain

Ran down in streaks.

Mos. Excellent, sir, speak out;
You may be louder yet: A culvering,
Discharged in his ear, would hardly bore it.

Corv. His nose is like a common-shore, still running.

Mos. 'Tis good! and, what his mouth?
Coro. A very draught.
Mos. O, stop it up-
Corv. By no means.
Mos. Pray you let me.

Faith, I could stifle him, rarely, with a pillow,
As well as any woman that should keep him.
Corv. Do as you will, but I'll begone.
Mos. Be so;

It is your presence makes him last so long.
Corv. I pray you, use no violence.
Mos. No, sir, why

Corv. Nay, at your discretion.
Mos. Well, good sir, be gone.

Corv. I will not trouble him now, to take my pearl?

Mos. Puh, nor your diamond. What a needless care

Is this afflicts you? Is not all here yours? Am not I here? whom you have made your creature?

That owe my being to you?

Corv. Grateful Mosca!

Thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion,
My partner, and shalt share in all my fortunes.
Mos. Excepting one.
Cory. What's that?

Mos. Your gallant wife, sir. [Erit CORV.
Now, is he gone: We had no other means
To shoot him hence, but this.
Volp. My divine Mosca!
Thou hast to-day outgone thyself. Who's there?
[Another knocks.

I will be troubled with no more. Prepare
Me music, dances, banquets, all delights;
The Turk is not more sensual in his pleasures,
Than will Volpone. Let me see, a pearl?
A diamond? plate? cecchines? Good morning's
purchase;

Why, this is better than rob churches yet;
Or fat, by eating (once a month) a man.
Who is't?

Mos. The beauteous lady Would-be, sir,
Wife to the English knight, Sir Politic Would-be,
(This is the stile, sir, is directed me)
Hath sent to you, how you have slept to-night,
And if you would be visited.

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,
And knows, howe'er his wife affects strange airs,
She hath not yet the face to be dishonest.
But had she Signior Corvino's wife's face-
Vo'p. Has she so rare a face?
Mos. O, sir, the wonder,

The blazing star of Italy! a wench

O' the first year! a beauty ripe as harvest!
Whose skin is whiter than a swan all over!
Than silver, snow, or lilies! a soft lip,
Would tempt you to eternity of kissing!
And flesh that melteth, in the touch, to blood!
Bright as your gold! and lovely as your gold!
Volp. Why, had I not known this before?
Mos. Alas, sir,

Myself but yesterday discovered it.
Volp. How might I see her?

Mos. O, not possible;

She's kept as warily as is your gold :