A STREET.[ENTER SIR POLITICK WOULD-BE AND PEREGRINE.]SIR P: I told you, sir, it was a plot: you seeWhat observation is! You mention'd me,For some instructions: I will tell you, sir,(Since we are met here in this height of Venice,)Some few perticulars I have set down,Only for this meridian, fit to be knownOf your crude traveller, and they are these.I will not touch, sir, at your phrase, or clothes,For they are old.PER: Sir, I have better.SIR P: Pardon,I meant, as they are themes.PER: O, sir, proceed:I'll slander you no more of wit, good sir.SIR P: First, for your garb, it must be grave and serious,Very reserv'd, and lock'd; not tell a secretOn any terms, not to your father; scarceA fable, but with caution; make sure choiceBoth of your company, and discourse; bewareYou never speak a truth—PER: How!SIR P: Not to strangers,For those be they you must converse with, most;Others I would not know, sir, but at distance,So as I still might be a saver in them:You shall have tricks else past upon you hourly.And then, for your religion, profess none,But wonder at the diversity, of all:And, for your part, protest, were there no otherBut simply the laws o' the land, you could content you,Nic. Machiavel, and Monsieur Bodin, bothWere of this mind. Then must you learn the useAnd handling of your silver fork at meals;The metal of your glass; (these are main mattersWith your Italian;) and to know the hourWhen you must eat your melons, and your figs.PER: Is that a point of state too?SIR P: Here it is,For your Venetian, if he see a manPreposterous in the least, he has him straight;He has; he strips him. I'll acquaint you, sir,I now have lived here, 'tis some fourteen monthsWithin the first week of my landing here,All took me for a citizen of Venice:I knew the forms, so well—PER [ASIDE.]: And nothing else.SIR P: I had read Contarene, took me a house,Dealt with my Jews to furnish it with moveables—Well, if I could but find one man, one manTo mine own heart, whom I durst trust, I would—PER: What, what, sir?SIR P: Make him rich; make him a fortune:He should not think again. I would command it.PER: As how?SIR P: With certain projects that I have;Which I may not discover.PER [ASIDE.]: If I hadBut one to wager with, I would lay odds now,He tells me instantly.SIR P: One is, and thatI care not greatly who knows, to serve the stateOf Venice with red herrings for three years,And at a certain rate, from Rotterdam,Where I have correspendence. There's a letter,Sent me from one of the states, and to that purpose:He cannot write his name, but that's his mark.PER: He's a chandler?SIR P: No, a cheesemonger.There are some others too with whom I treatAbout the same negociation;And I will undertake it: for, 'tis thus.I'll do't with ease, I have cast it all: Your hoyCarries 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?SIR P: I should be loth to draw the subtle airOf 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 uponSome certain goods unto the state of Venice,Which I do call "my Cautions;" and, sir, whichI mean, in hope of pension, to propoundTo the Great Council, then unto the Forty,So to the Ten. My means are made already—PER: By whom?SIR P: Sir, one that, though his place be obscure,Yet he can sway, and they will hear him. He'sA commandador.PER: What! a common serjeant?SIR P: Sir, such as they are, put it in their mouths,What they should say, sometimes; as well as greater:I think I have my notes to shew you—[SEARCHING HIS POCKETS.]PER: Good sir.SIR P: But you shall swear unto me, on your gentry,Not to anticipate—PER: I, sir!SIR P: Nor revealA circumstance—My paper is not with me.PER: O, but you can remember, sir.SIR P: My first isConcerning 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 affectedUnto the state, sir; with it in our pockets,Might not I go into the Arsenal,Or you, come out again, and none the wiser?PER: Except yourself, sir.SIR P: Go to, then. I thereforeAdvertise to the state, how fit it were,That none but such as were known patriots,Sound lovers of their country, should be suffer'dTo enjoy them in their houses; and even thoseSeal'd at some office, and at such a bignessAs might not lurk in pockets.PER: Admirable!SIR P: My next is, how to enquire, and be resolv'd,By present demonstration, whether a ship,Newly arrived from Soria, or fromAny suspected part of all the Levant,Be guilty of the plague: and where they useTo lie out forty, fifty days, sometimes,About the Lazaretto, for their trial;I'll save that charge and loss unto the merchant,And in an hour clear the doubt.PER: Indeed, sir!SIR P: Or—I will lose my labour.PER: 'My faith, that's much.SIR P: Nay, sir, conceive me. It will cost me in onions,Some thirty livres—PER: Which is one pound sterling.SIR P: Beside 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 oneI strain me a fair tarpauling, and in thatI stick my onions, cut in halves: the otherIs full of loop-holes, out at which I thrustThe noses of my bellows; and those bellowsI keep, with water-works, in perpetual motion,Which is the easiest matter of a hundred.Now, sir, your onion, which doth naturallyAttract the infection, and your bellows blowingThe air upon him, will show, instantly,By his changed colour, if there be contagion;Or else remain as fair as at the first.—Now it is known, 'tis nothing.PER: You are right, sir.SIR P: I would I had my note.PER: 'Faith, so would I:But you have done well for once, sir.SIR P: Were I false,Or would be made so, I could shew you reasonsHow I could sell this state now, to the Turk;Spite of their galleys, or their—[EXAMINING HIS PAPERS.]PER: Pray you, sir Pol.SIR P: I have them not about me.PER: That I fear'd.They are there, sir.SIR P: No. This is my diary,Wherein I note my actions of the day.PER: Pray you let's see, sir. What is here?[READS.]"Notandum,A rat had gnawn my spur-leathers; notwithstanding,I put on new, and did go forth: but firstI threw three beans over the threshold. Item,I went and bought two tooth-picks, whereof oneI burst immediatly, in a discourseWith a Dutch merchant, 'bout ragion del stato.From him I went and paid a moccinigo,For piecing my silk stockings; by the wayI cheapen'd sprats; and at St. Mark's I urined."'Faith, these are politic notes!SIR P: Sir, I do slipNo action of my life, but thus I quote it.PER: Believe me, it is wise!SIR P: Nay, sir, read forth.[ENTER, AT A DISTANCE, LADY POLITICK-WOULD BE, NANO,AND TWO WAITING-WOMEN.]LADY P: Where should this loose knight be, trow?sure he's housed.NAN: Why, then he's fast.LADY P: Ay, he plays both with me.I pray you, stay. This heat will do more harmTo my complexion, than his heart is worth;(I do not care to hinder, but to take him.)[RUBBING HER CHEEKS.]How it comes off!1 WOM: My master's yonder.LADY P: Where?1 WOM: With a young gentleman.LADY P: That same's the party;In man's apparel! 'Pray you, sir, jog my knight:I'll be tender to his reputation,However he demerit.SIR P [SEEING HER]: My lady!PER: Where?SIR P: '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 beautyI durst compare—PER: It seems you are not jealous,That dare commend her.SIR P: Nay, and for discourse—PER: Being your wife, she cannot miss that.SIR P [INTRODUCING PER.]: Madam,Here is a gentleman, pray you, use him fairly;He seems a youth, but he is—LADY P: None.SIR P: Yes, oneHas put his face as soon into the world—LADY P: You mean, as early? but to-day?SIR P: How's this?LADY P: Why, in this habit, sir; you apprehend me:—Well, master Would-be, this doth not become you;I had thought the odour, sir, of your good name,Had been more precious to you; that you would notHave done this dire massacre on your honour;One of your gravity and rank besides!But knights, I see, care little for the oathThey make to ladies; chiefly, their own ladies.SIR P: Now by my spurs, the symbol of my knighthood,—PER [ASIDE.]: Lord, how his brain is humbled for an oath!SIR P: I reach you not.LADY P: Right, sir, your policyMay bear it through, thus.[TO PER.]sir, a word with you.I would be loth to contest publiclyWith any gentlewoman, or to seemFroward, or violent, as the courtier says;It comes too near rusticity in a lady,Which I would shun by all means: and howeverI may deserve from master Would-be, yetT'have one fair gentlewoman thus be madeThe unkind instrument to wrong another,And one she knows not, ay, and to persever;In my poor judgment, is not warrantedFrom being a solecism in our sex,If not in manners.PER: How is this!SIR P: Sweet madam,Come nearer to your aim.LADY P: Marry, and will, sir.Since you provoke me with your impudence,And laughter of your light land-syren here,Your Sporus, your hermaphrodite—PER: What's here?Poetic fury, and historic storms?SIR P: The gentleman, believe it, is of worth,And of our nation.LADY P: Ay, your White-friars nation.Come, I blush for you, master Would-be, I;And am asham'd you should have no more forehead,Than thus to be the patron, or St. George,To a lewd harlot, a base fricatrice,A female devil, in a male outside.SIR P: Nay,And you be such a one, I must bid adieuTo your delights. The case appears too liquid.[EXIT.]LADY P: Ay, you may carry't clear, with your state-face!—But for your carnival concupiscence,Who here is fled for liberty of conscience,From furious persecution of the marshal,Her will I dis'ple.PER: This is fine, i'faith!And do you use this often? Is this partOf your wit's exercise, 'gainst you have occasion?Madam—LADY P: Go to, sir.PER: Do you hear me, lady?Why, if your knight have set you to beg shirts,Or to invite me home, you might have done itA nearer way, by far:LADY P: This cannot work youOut of my snare.PER: Why, am I in it, then?Indeed your husband told me you were fair,And so you are; only your nose inclines,That side that's next the sun, to the queen-apple.LADY P: This cannot be endur'd by any patience.[ENTER MOSCA.]MOS: What is the matter, madam?LADY P: If the SenateRight not my quest in this; I'll protest themTo all the world, no aristocracy.MOS: What is the injury, lady?LADY P: Why, the calletYou told me of, here I have ta'en disguised.MOS: Who? this! what means your ladyship? the creatureI mention'd to you is apprehended now,Before the senate; you shall see her—LADY P: Where?MOS: I'll bring you to her. This young gentleman,I saw him land this morning at the port.LADY P: Is't possible! how has my judgment wander'd?Sir, I must, blushing, say to you, I have err'd;And plead your pardon.PER: What, more changes yet!LADY P: I hope you have not the malice to rememberA gentlewoman's passion. If you stayIn Venice here, please you to use me, sir—MOS: Will you go, madam?LADY P: 'Pray you, sir, use me. In faith,The more you see me, the more I shall conceiveYou have forgot our quarrel.[EXEUNT LADY WOULD-BE, MOSCA, NANO, AND WAITING-WOMEN.]PER: This is rare!Sir Politick Would-be? no; sir Politick Bawd.To bring me thus acquainted with his wife!Well, wise sir Pol, since you have practised thusUpon my freshman-ship, I'll try your salt-head,What proof it is against a counter-plot.[EXIT.]SCENE 4.2.THE SCRUTINEO, OR SENATE-HOUSE.ENTER VOLTORE, CORBACCIO, CORVINO, AND MOSCA.VOLT: Well, now you know the carriage of the business,Your constancy is all that is requiredUnto the safety of it.MOS: Is the lieSafely convey'd amongst us? is that sure?Knows every man his burden?CORV: Yes.MOS: Then shrink not.CORV: But knows the advocate the truth?MOS: O, sir,By no means; I devised a formal tale,That salv'd your reputation. But be valiant, sir.CORV: I fear no one but him, that this his pleadingShould make him stand for a co-heir—MOS: Co-halter!Hang him; we will but use his tongue, his noise,As we do croakers here.CORV: Ay, what shall he do?MOS: When we have done, you mean?CORV: Yes.MOS: Why, we'll think:Sell him for mummia; he's half dust already.[TO VOLTORE.]Do not you smile, to see this buffalo,How he does sport it with his head?[ASIDE.]—I should,If all were well and past.[TO CORBACCIO.]—Sir, only youAre he that shall enjoy the crop of all,And these not know for whom they toil.CORB: Ay, peace.MOS [TURNING TO CORVINO.]: But you shall eat it.Much! [ASIDE.][TO VOLTORE.]—Worshipful sir,Mercury sit upon your thundering tongue,Or the French Hercules, and make your languageAs conquering as his club, to beat along,As with a tempest, flat, our adversaries;But much more yours, sir.VOLT: Here they come, have done.MOS: I have another witness, if you need, sir,I can produce.VOLT: Who is it?MOS: Sir, I have her.[ENTER AVOCATORI AND TAKE THEIR SEATS,BONARIO, CELIA, NOTARIO, COMMANDADORI, SAFFI,AND OTHER OFFICERS OF JUSTICE.]1 AVOC: The like of this the senate never heard of.2 AVOC: 'Twill come most strange to them when we report it.4 AVOC: The gentlewoman has been ever heldOf unreproved name.3 AVOC: So has the youth.4 AVOC: The more unnatural part that of his father.2 AVOC: More of the husband.1 AVOC: I not know to giveHis act a name, it is so monstrous!4 AVOC: But the impostor, he's a thing createdTo exceed example!1 AVOC: And all after-times!2 AVOC: I never heard a true voluptuaryDiscribed, but him.3 AVOC: Appear yet those were cited?NOT: All, but the old magnifico, Volpone.1 AVOC: Why is not he here?MOS: Please your fatherhoods,Here is his advocate: himself's so weak,So feeble—4 AVOC: What are you?BON: His parasite,His knave, his pandar—I beseech the court,He may be forced to come, that your grave eyesMay bear strong witness of his strange impostures.VOLT: Upon my faith and credit with your virtues,He is not able to endure the air.2 AVOC: Bring him, however.3 AVOC: We will see him.4 AVOC: Fetch him.VOLT: Your fatherhoods fit pleasures be obey'd;[EXEUNT OFFICERS.]But sure, the sight will rather move your pities,Than indignation. May it please the court,In the mean time, he may be heard in me;I know this place most void of prejudice,And therefore crave it, since we have no reasonTo fear our truth should hurt our cause.3 AVOC: Speak free.VOLT: Then know, most honour'd fathers, I must nowDiscover to your strangely abused ears,The most prodigious and most frontless pieceOf solid impudence, and treachery,That ever vicious nature yet brought forthTo shame the state of Venice. This lewd woman,That wants no artificial looks or tearsTo help the vizor she has now put on,Hath long been known a close adulteress,To that lascivious youth there; not suspected,I say, but known, and taken in the actWith him; and by this man, the easy husband,Pardon'd: whose timeless bounty makes him nowStand here, the most unhappy, innocent person,That ever man's own goodness made accused.For these not knowing how to owe a giftOf that dear grace, but with their shame; being placedSo above all powers of their gratitude,Began to hate the benefit; and, in placeOf thanks, devise to extirpe the memoryOf such an act: wherein I pray your fatherhoodsTo observe the malice, yea, the rage of creaturesDiscover'd in their evils; and what heartSuch take, even from their crimes:—but that anonWill more appear.—This gentleman, the father,Hearing of this foul fact, with many others,Which daily struck at his too tender ears,And grieved in nothing more than that he could notPreserve himself a parent, (his son's illsGrowing to that strange flood,) at last decreedTo disinherit him.1 AVOC: These be strange turns!2 AVOC: The young man's fame was ever fair and honest.VOLT: So much more full of danger is his vice,That can beguile so under shade of virtue.But, as I said, my honour'd sires, his fatherHaving this settled purpose, by what meansTo him betray'd, we know not, and this dayAppointed for the deed; that parricide,I cannot style him better, by confederacyPreparing this his paramour to be there,Enter'd Volpone's house, (who was the man,Your fatherhoods must understand, design'dFor the inheritance,) there sought his father:—But with what purpose sought he him, my lords?I tremble to pronounce it, that a sonUnto a father, and to such a father,Should have so foul, felonious intent!It was to murder him: when being preventedBy his more happy absence, what then did he?Not check his wicked thoughts; no, now new deeds,(Mischief doth ever end where it begins)An act of horror, fathers! he dragg'd forthThe aged gentleman that had there lain bed-ridThree years and more, out of his innocent couch,Naked upon the floor, there left him; woundedHis servant in the face: and, with this strumpetThe stale to his forged practice, who was gladTo be so active,—(I shall here desireYour fatherhoods to note but my collections,As most remarkable,—) thought at once to stopHis father's ends; discredit his free choiceIn the old gentleman, redeem themselves,By laying infamy upon this man,To whom, with blushing, they should owe their lives.1 AVOC: What proofs have you of this?BON: Most honoured fathers,I humbly crave there be no credit givenTo this man's mercenary tongue.2 AVOC: Forbear.BON: His soul moves in his fee.3 AVOC: O, sir.BON: This fellow,For six sols more, would plead against his Maker.1 AVOC: You do forget yourself.VOLT: Nay, nay, grave fathers,Let him have scope: can any man imagineThat he will spare his accuser, that would notHave spared his parent?1 AVOC: Well, produce your proofs.CEL: I would I could forget I were a creature.VOLT: Signior Corbaccio.[CORBACCIO COMES FORWARD.]1 AVOC: What is he?VOLT: The father.2 AVOC: Has he had an oath?NOT: Yes.CORB: What must I do now?NOT: Your testimony's craved.CORB: Speak to the knave?I'll have my mouth first stopt with earth; my heartAbhors his knowledge: I disclaim in him.1 AVOC: But for what cause?CORB: The mere portent of nature!He is an utter stranger to my loins.BON: Have they made you to this?CORB: I will not hear thee,Monster of men, swine, goat, wolf, parricide!Speak not, thou viper.BON: Sir, I will sit down,And rather wish my innocence should suffer,Then I resist the authority of a father.VOLT: Signior Corvino![CORVINO COMES FORWARD.]2 AVOC: This is strange.1 AVOC: Who's this?NOT: The husband.4 AVOC: Is he sworn?NOT: He is.3 AVOC: Speak, then.CORV: This woman, please your fatherhoods, is a whore,Of most hot exercise, more than a partrich,Upon record—1 AVOC: No more.CORV: Neighs like a jennet.NOT: Preserve the honour of the court.CORV: I shall,And modesty of your most reverend ears.And yet I hope that I may say, these eyesHave seen her glued unto that piece of cedar,That fine well-timber'd gallant; and that hereThe letters may be read, through the horn,That make the story perfect.MOS: Excellent! sir.CORV [ASIDE TO MOSCA.]: There's no shame in this now, is there?MOS: None.CORV: Or if I said, I hoped that she were onwardTo her damnation, if there be a hellGreater than whore and woman; a good catholicMay make the doubt.3 AVOC: His grief hath made him frantic.1 AVOC: Remove him hence.2 AVOC: Look to the woman.[CELIA SWOONS.]CORV: Rare!Prettily feign'd, again!4 AVOC: Stand from about her.1 AVOC: Give her the air.3 AVOC [TO MOSCA.]: What can you say?MOS: My wound,May it please your wisdoms, speaks for me, receivedIn aid of my good patron, when he mistHis sought-for father, when that well-taught dameHad her cue given her, to cry out, A rape!BON: O most laid impudence! Fathers—3 AVOC: Sir, be silent;You had your hearing free, so must they theirs.2 AVOC: I do begin to doubt the imposture here.4 AVOC: This woman has too many moods.VOLT: Grave fathers,She is a creature of a most profestAnd prostituted lewdness.CORV: Most impetuous,Unsatisfied, grave fathers!VOLT: May her feigningsNot take your wisdoms: but this day she baitedA stranger, a grave knight, with her loose eyes,And more lascivious kisses. This man saw themTogether on the water in a gondola.MOS: Here is the lady herself, that saw them too;Without; who then had in the open streetsPursued them, but for saving her knight's honour.1 AVOC: Produce that lady.2 AVOC: Let her come.[EXIT MOSCA.]4 AVOC: These things,They strike with wonder!3 AVOC: I am turn'd a stone.[RE-ENTER MOSCA WITH LADY WOULD-BE.]MOS: Be resolute, madam.LADY P: Ay, this same is she.[POINTING TO CELIA.]Out, thou chameleon harlot! now thine eyesVie tears with the hyaena. Dar'st thou lookUpon my wronged face?—I cry your pardons,I fear I have forgettingly transgrestAgainst the dignity of the court—2 AVOC: No, madam.LADY P: And been exorbitant—2 AVOC: You have not, lady.4 AVOC: These proofs are strong.LADY P: Surely, I had no purposeTo scandalise your honours, or my sex's.3 AVOC: We do believe it.LADY P: Surely, you may believe it.2 AVOC: Madam, we do.LADY P: Indeed, you may; my breedingIs not so coarse—1 AVOC: We know it.LADY P: To offendWith pertinacy—3 AVOC: Lady—LADY P: Such a presence!No surely.1 AVOC: We well think it.LADY P: You may think it.1 AVOC: Let her o'ercome. What witnesses have youTo make good your report?BON: Our consciences.CEL: And heaven, that never fails the innocent.4 AVOC: These are no testimonies.BON: Not in your courts,Where multitude, and clamour overcomes.1 AVOC: Nay, then you do wax insolent.[RE-ENTER OFFICERS, BEARING VOLPONE ON A COUCH.]VOLT: Here, here,The testimony comes, that will convince,And put to utter dumbness their bold tongues:See here, grave fathers, here's the ravisher,The rider on men's wives, the great impostor,The grand voluptuary! Do you not thinkThese limbs should affect venery? or these eyesCovet a concubine? pray you mark these hands;Are they not fit to stroke a lady's breasts?—Perhaps he doth dissemble!BON: So he does.VOLT: Would you have him tortured?BON: I would have him proved.VOLT: Best try him then with goads, or burning irons;Put him to the strappado: I have heardThe rack hath cured the gout; 'faith, give it him,And help him of a malady; be courteous.I'll undertake, before these honour'd fathers,He shall have yet as many left diseases,As she has known adulterers, or thou strumpets.—O, my most equal hearers, if these deeds,Acts of this bold and most exorbitant strain,May pass with sufferance; what one citizenBut owes the forfeit of his life, yea, fame,To him that dares traduce him? which of youAre safe, my honour'd fathers? I would ask,With leave of your grave fatherhoods, if their plotHave any face or colour like to truth?Or if, unto the dullest nostril here,It smell not rank, and most abhorred slander?I crave your care of this good gentleman,Whose life is much endanger'd by their fable;And as for them, I will conclude with this,That vicious persons, when they're hot and flesh'dIn impious acts, their constancy abounds:Damn'd deeds are done with greatest confidence.1 AVOC: Take them to custody, and sever them.2 AVOC: 'Tis pity two such prodigies should live.1 AVOC: Let the old gentleman be return'd with care;[EXEUNT OFFICERS WITH VOLPONE.]I'm sorry our credulity hath wrong'd him.4 AVOC: These are two creatures!3 AVOC: I've an earthquake in me.2 AVOC: Their shame, even in their cradles, fled their faces.4 AVOC [TO VOLT.]: You have done a worthy service to the state, sir,In their discovery.1 AVOC: You shall hear, ere night,What punishment the court decrees upon them.[EXEUNT AVOCAT., NOT., AND OFFICERS WITH BONARIO AND CELIA.]VOLT: We thank your fatherhoods.—How like you it?MOS: Rare.I'd have your tongue, sir, tipt with gold for this;I'd have you be the heir to the whole city;The earth I'd have want men, ere you want living:They're bound to erect your statue in St. Mark's.Signior Corvino, I would have you goAnd shew yourself, that you have conquer'd.CORV: Yes.MOS: It was much better that you should professYourself a cuckold thus, than that the otherShould have been prov'd.CORV: Nay, I consider'd that:Now it is her fault:MOS: Then it had been yours.CORV: True; I do doubt this advocate still.MOS: I'faith,You need not, I dare ease you of that care.CORV: I trust thee, Mosca.[EXIT.]MOS: As your own soul, sir.CORB: Mosca!MOS: Now for your business, sir.CORB: How! have you business?MOS: Yes, your's, sir.CORB: O, none else?MOS: None else, not I.CORB: Be careful, then.MOS: Rest you with both your eyes, sir.CORB: Dispatch it.MOS: Instantly.CORB: And look that all,Whatever, be put in, jewels, plate, moneys,Household stuff, bedding, curtains.MOS: Curtain-rings, sir.Only the advocate's fee must be deducted.CORB: I'll pay him now; you'll be too prodigal.MOS: Sir, I must tender it.CORB: Two chequines is well?MOS: No, six, sir.CORB: 'Tis too much.MOS: He talk'd a great while;You must consider that, sir.CORB: Well, there's three—MOS: I'll give it him.CORB: Do so, and there's for thee.[EXIT.]MOS [ASIDE.]: Bountiful bones! What horrid strange offenceDid he commit 'gainst nature, in his youth,Worthy this age?[TO VOLT.]—You see, sir, how I workUnto your ends; take you no notice.VOLT: No,I'll leave you.[EXIT.]MOS: All is yours, the devil and all:Good advocate!—Madam, I'll bring you home.LADY P: No, I'll go see your patron.MOS: That you shall not:I'll tell you why. My purpose is to urgeMy patron to reform his Will; and forThe zeal you have shewn to-day, whereas beforeYou were but third or fourth, you shall be nowPut in the first; which would appear as begg'd,If you were present. Therefore—LADY P: You shall sway me.[EXEUNT.]
A ROOM IN VOLPONE'S HOUSE.ENTER VOLPONE.VOLP: Well, I am here, and all this brunt is past.I ne'er was in dislike with my disguiseTill this fled moment; here 'twas good, in private;But in your public,—cave whilst I breathe.'Fore God, my left leg began to have the cramp,And I apprehended straight some power had struck meWith a dead palsy: Well! I must be merry,And shake it off. A many of these fearsWould put me into some villanous disease,Should they come thick upon me: I'll prevent 'em.Give me a bowl of lusty wine, to frightThis humour from my heart.[DRINKS.]Hum, hum, hum!'Tis almost gone already; I shall conquer.Any device, now, of rare ingenious knavery,That would possess me with a violent laughter,Would make me up again.[DRINKS AGAIN.]So, so, so, so!This heat is life; 'tis blood by this time:—Mosca![ENTER MOSCA.]MOS: How now, sir? does the day look clear again?Are we recover'd, and wrought out of error,Into our way, to see our path before us?Is our trade free once more?VOLP: Exquisite Mosca!MOS: Was it not carried learnedly?VOLP: And stoutly:Good wits are greatest in extremities.MOS: It were a folly beyond thought, to trustAny grand act unto a cowardly spirit:You are not taken with it enough, methinks?VOLP: O, more than if I had enjoy'd the wench:The pleasure of all woman-kind's not like it.MOS: Why now you speak, sir. We must here be fix'd;Here we must rest; this is our master-piece;We cannot think to go beyond this.VOLP: True.Thou hast play'd thy prize, my precious Mosca.MOS: Nay, sir,To gull the court—VOLP: And quite divert the torrentUpon the innocent.MOS: Yes, and to makeSo rare a music out of discords—VOLP: Right.That yet to me's the strangest, how thou hast borne it!That these, being so divided 'mongst themselves,Should not scent somewhat, or in me or thee,Or doubt their own side.MOS: True, they will not see't.Too much light blinds them, I think. Each of themIs so possest and stuft with his own hopes,That any thing unto the contrary,Never so true, or never so apparent,Never so palpable, they will resist it—VOLP: Like a temptation of the devil.MOS: Right, sir.Merchants may talk of trade, and your great signiorsOf land that yields well; but if ItalyHave any glebe more fruitful than these fellows,I am deceiv'd. Did not your advocate rare?VOLP: O—"My most honour'd fathers, my grave fathers,Under correction of your fatherhoods,What face of truth is here? If these strange deedsMay pass, most honour'd fathers"—I had much adoTo forbear laughing.MOS: It seem'd to me, you sweat, sir.VOLP: In troth, I did a little.MOS: But confess, sir,Were you not daunted?VOLP: In good faith, I wasA little in a mist, but not dejected;Never, but still my self.MOS: I think it, sir.Now, so truth help me, I must needs say this, sir,And out of conscience for your advocate:He has taken pains, in faith, sir, and deserv'd,In my poor judgment, I speak it under favour,Not to contrary you, sir, very richly—Well—to be cozen'd.VOLP: Troth, and I think so too,By that I heard him, in the latter end.MOS: O, but before, sir: had you heard him firstDraw it to certain heads, then aggravate,Then use his vehement figures—I look'd stillWhen he would shift a shirt: and, doing thisOut of pure love, no hope of gain—VOLP: 'Tis right.I cannot answer him, Mosca, as I would,Not yet; but for thy sake, at thy entreaty,I will begin, even now—to vex them all,This very instant.MOS: Good sir.VOLP: Call the dwarfAnd eunuch forth.MOS: Castrone, Nano![ENTER CASTRONE AND NANO.]NANO: Here.VOLP: Shall we have a jig now?MOS: What you please, sir.VOLP: Go,Straight give out about the streets, you two,That I am dead; do it with constancy,Sadly, do you hear? impute it to the griefOf this late slander.[EXEUNT CAST. AND NANO.]MOS: What do you mean, sir?VOLP: O,I shall have instantly my Vulture, Crow,Raven, come flying hither, on the news,To peck for carrion, my she-wolfe, and all,Greedy, and full of expectation—MOS: And then to have it ravish'd from their mouths!VOLP: 'Tis true. I will have thee put on a gown,And take upon thee, as thou wert mine heir:Shew them a will; Open that chest, and reachForth one of those that has the blanks; I'll straightPut in thy name.MOS [GIVES HIM A PAPER.]: It will be rare, sir.VOLP: Ay,When they ev'n gape, and find themselves deluded—MOS: Yes.VOLP: And thou use them scurvily!Dispatch, get on thy gown.MOS [PUTTING ON A GOWN.]: But, what, sir, if they askAfter the body?VOLP: Say, it was corrupted.MOS: I'll say it stunk, sir; and was fain to have itCoffin'd up instantly, and sent away.VOLP: Any thing; what thou wilt. Hold, here's my will.Get thee a cap, a count-book, pen and ink,Papers afore thee; sit as thou wert takingAn inventory of parcels: I'll get upBehind the curtain, on a stool, and hearken;Sometime peep over, see how they do look,With what degrees their blood doth leave their faces,O, 'twill afford me a rare meal of laughter!MOS [PUTTING ON A CAP, AND SETTING OUT THE TABLE, ETC.]:Your advocate will turn stark dull upon it.VOLP: It will take off his oratory's edge.MOS: But your clarissimo, old round-back, heWill crump you like a hog-louse, with the touch.VOLP: And what Corvino?MOS: O, sir, look for him,To-morrow morning, with a rope and dagger,To visit all the streets; he must run mad.My lady too, that came into the court,To bear false witness for your worship—VOLP: Yes,And kist me 'fore the fathers; when my faceFlow'd all with oils.MOS: And sweat, sir. Why, your goldIs such another med'cine, it dries upAll those offensive savours: it transformsThe most deformed, and restores them lovely,As 'twere the strange poetical girdle. JoveCould not invent t' himself a shroud more subtleTo pass Acrisius' guards. It is the thingMakes all the world her grace, her youth, her beauty.VOLP: I think she loves me.MOS: Who? the lady, sir?She's jealous of you.VOLP: Dost thou say so?[KNOCKING WITHIN.]MOS: Hark,There's some already.VOLP: Look.MOS: It is the Vulture:He has the quickest scent.VOLP: I'll to my place,Thou to thy posture.[GOES BEHIND THE CURTAIN.]MOS: I am set.VOLP: But, Mosca,Play the artificer now, torture them rarely.[ENTER VOLTORE.]VOLT: How now, my Mosca?MOS [WRITING.]: "Turkey carpets, nine"—VOLT: Taking an inventory! that is well.MOS: "Two suits of bedding, tissue"—VOLT: Where's the Will?Let me read that the while.[ENTER SERVANTS, WITH CORBACCIO IN A CHAIR.]CORB: So, set me down:And get you home.[EXEUNT SERVANTS.]VOLT: Is he come now, to trouble us!MOS: "Of cloth of gold, two more"—CORB: Is it done, Mosca?MOS: "Of several velvets, eight"—VOLT: I like his care.CORB: Dost thou not hear?[ENTER CORVINO.]CORB: Ha! is the hour come, Mosca?VOLP [PEEPING OVER THE CURTAIN.]: Ay, now, they muster.CORV: What does the advocate here,Or this Corbaccio?CORB: What do these here?[ENTER LADY POL. WOULD-BE.]LADY P: Mosca!Is his thread spun?MOS: "Eight chests of linen"—VOLP: O,My fine dame Would-be, too!CORV: Mosca, the Will,That I may shew it these, and rid them hence.MOS: "Six chests of diaper, four of damask."—There.[GIVES THEM THE WILL CARELESSLY, OVER HIS SHOULDER.]CORB: Is that the will?MOS: "Down-beds, and bolsters"—VOLP: Rare!Be busy still. Now they begin to flutter:They never think of me. Look, see, see, see!How their swift eyes run over the long deed,Unto the name, and to the legacies,What is bequeath'd them there—MOS: "Ten suits of hangings"—VOLP: Ay, in their garters, Mosca. Now their hopesAre at the gasp.VOLT: Mosca the heir?CORB: What's that?VOLP: My advocate is dumb; look to my merchant,He has heard of some strange storm, a ship is lost,He faints; my lady will swoon. Old glazen eyes,He hath not reach'd his despair yet.CORB [TAKES THE WILL.]: All theseAre out of hope: I am sure, the man.CORV: But, Mosca—MOS: "Two cabinets."CORV: Is this in earnest?MOS: "OneOf ebony"—CORV: Or do you but delude me?MOS: The other, mother of pearl—I am very busy.Good faith, it is a fortune thrown upon me—"Item, one salt of agate"—not my seeking.LADY P: Do you hear, sir?MOS: "A perfum'd box"—'Pray you forbear,You see I'm troubled—"made of an onyx"—LADY P: How!MOS: To-morrow or next day, I shall be at leisureTo talk with you all.CORV: Is this my large hope's issue?LADY P: Sir, I must have a fairer answer.MOS: Madam!Marry, and shall: 'pray you, fairly quit my house.Nay, raise no tempest with your looks; but hark you,Remember what your ladyship offer'd me,To put you in an heir; go to, think on it:And what you said e'en your best madams didFor maintenance, and why not you? Enough.Go home, and use the poor sir Pol, your knight, well,For fear I tell some riddles; go, be melancholy.[EXIT LADY WOULD-BE.]VOLP: O, my fine devil!CORV: Mosca, 'pray you a word.MOS: Lord! will you not take your dispatch hence yet?Methinks, of all, you should have been the example.Why should you stay here? with what thought? what promise?Hear you; do not you know, I know you an ass,And that you would most fain have been a wittol,If fortune would have let you? that you areA declared cuckold, on good terms? This pearl,You'll say, was yours? right: this diamond?I'll not deny't, but thank you. Much here else?It may be so. Why, think that these good worksMay help to hide your bad. I'll not betray you;Although you be but extraordinary,And have it only in title, it sufficeth:Go home, be melancholy too, or mad.[EXIT CORVINO.]VOLP: Rare Mosca! how his villany becomes him!VOLT: Certain he doth delude all these for me.CORB: Mosca the heir!VOLP: O, his four eyes have found it.CORB: I am cozen'd, cheated, by a parasite slave;Harlot, thou hast gull'd me.MOS: Yes, sir. Stop your mouth,Or I shall draw the only tooth is left.Are not you he, that filthy covetous wretch,With the three legs, that, here, in hope of prey,Have, any time this three years, snuff'd about,With your most grovelling nose; and would have hiredMe to the poisoning of my patron, sir?Are not you he that have to-day in courtProfess'd the disinheriting of your son?Perjured yourself? Go home, and die, and stink.If you but croak a syllable, all comes out:Away, and call your porters![exit corbaccio.]Go, go, stink.VOLP: Excellent varlet!VOLT: Now, my faithful Mosca,I find thy constancy.MOS: Sir!VOLT: Sincere.MOS [WRITING.]: "A tableOf porphyry"—I marle, you'll be thus troublesome.VOLP: Nay, leave off now, they are gone.MOS: Why? who are you?What! who did send for you? O, cry you mercy,Reverend sir! Good faith, I am grieved for you,That any chance of mine should thus defeatYour (I must needs say) most deserving travails:But I protest, sir, it was cast upon me,And I could almost wish to be without it,But that the will o' the dead must be observ'd,Marry, my joy is that you need it not,You have a gift, sir, (thank your education,)Will never let you want, while there are men,And malice, to breed causes. Would I hadBut half the like, for all my fortune, sir!If I have any suits, as I do hope,Things being so easy and direct, I shall not,I will make bold with your obstreperous aid,Conceive me,—for your fee, sir. In mean time,You that have so much law, I know have the conscience,Not to be covetous of what is mine.Good sir, I thank you for my plate; 'twill helpTo set up a young man. Good faith, you lookAs you were costive; best go home and purge, sir.[EXIT VOLTORE.]VOLP [COMES FROM BEHIND THE CURTAIN.]:Bid him eat lettuce well.My witty mischief,Let me embrace thee. O that I could nowTransform thee to a Venus!—Mosca, go,Straight take my habit of clarissimo,And walk the streets; be seen, torment them more:We must pursue, as well as plot. Who wouldHave lost this feast?MOS: I doubt it will lose them.VOLP: O, my recovery shall recover all.That I could now but think on some disguiseTo meet them in, and ask them questions:How I would vex them still at every turn!MOS: Sir, I can fit you.VOLP: Canst thou?MOS: Yes, I knowOne o' the commandadori, sir, so like you;Him will I straight make drunk, and bring you his habit.VOLP: A rare disguise, and answering thy brain!O, I will be a sharp disease unto them.MOS: Sir, you must look for curses—VOLP: Till they burst;The Fox fares ever best when he is curst.[EXEUNT.]SCENE 5.2.A HALL IN SIR POLITICK'S HOUSE.ENTER PEREGRINE DISGUISED, AND THREE MERCHANTS.PER: Am I enough disguised?1 MER: I warrant you.PER: All my ambition is to fright him only.2 MER: If you could ship him away, 'twere excellent.3 MER: To Zant, or to Aleppo?PER: Yes, and have hisAdventures put i' the Book of Voyages.And his gull'd story register'd for truth.Well, gentlemen, when I am in a while,And that you think us warm in our discourse,Know your approaches.1 MER: Trust it to our care.[EXEUNT MERCHANTS.][ENTER WAITING-WOMAN.]PER: Save you, fair lady! Is sir Pol within?WOM: I do not know, sir.PER: Pray you say unto him,Here is a merchant, upon earnest business,Desires to speak with him.WOM: I will see, sir.[EXIT.]PER: Pray you.—I see the family is all female here.[RE-ENTER WAITING-WOMAN.]WOM: He says, sir, he has weighty affairs of state,That now require him whole; some other timeYou may possess him.PER: Pray you say again,If those require him whole, these will exact him,Whereof I bring him tidings.[EXIT WOMAN.]—What might beHis grave affair of state now! how to makeBolognian sausages here in Venice, sparingOne o' the ingredients?[RE-ENTER WAITING-WOMAN.]WOM: Sir, he says, he knowsBy your word "tidings," that you are no statesman,And therefore wills you stay.PER: Sweet, pray you return him;I have not read so many proclamations,And studied them for words, as he has done—But—here he deigns to come.[EXIT WOMAN.][ENTER SIR POLITICK.]SIR P: Sir, I must craveYour courteous pardon. There hath chanced to-day,Unkind disaster 'twixt my lady and me;And I was penning my apology,To give her satisfaction, as you came now.PER: Sir, I am grieved I bring you worse disaster:The gentleman you met at the port to-day,That told you, he was newly arrived—SIR P: Ay, wasA fugitive punk?PER: No, sir, a spy set on you;And he has made relation to the senate,That you profest to him to have a plotTo sell the State of Venice to the Turk.SIR P: O me!PER: For which, warrants are sign'd by this time,To apprehend you, and to search your studyFor papers—SIR P: Alas, sir, I have none, but notesDrawn out of play-books—PER: All the better, sir.SIR P: And some essays. What shall I do?PER: Sir, bestConvey yourself into a sugar-chest;Or, if you could lie round, a frail were rare:And I could send you aboard.SIR P: Sir, I but talk'd so,For discourse sake merely.[KNOCKING WITHIN.]PER: Hark! they are there.SIR P: I am a wretch, a wretch!PER: What will you do, sir?Have you ne'er a currant-butt to leap into?They'll put you to the rack, you must be sudden.SIR P: Sir, I have an ingine—3 MER [WITHIN.]: Sir Politick Would-be?2 MER [WITHIN.]: Where is he?SIR P: That I have thought upon before time.PER: What is it?SIR P: I shall ne'er endure the torture.Marry, it is, sir, of a tortoise-shell,Fitted for these extremities: pray you, sir, help me.Here I've a place, sir, to put back my legs,Please you to lay it on, sir,[LIES DOWN WHILE PEREGRINE PLACES THE SHELL UPON HIM.]—with this cap,And my black gloves. I'll lie, sir, like a tortoise,'Till they are gone.PER: And call you this an ingine?SIR P: Mine own device—Good sir, bid my wife's womenTo burn my papers.[EXIT PEREGRINE.][THE THREE MERCHANTS RUSH IN.]1 MER: Where is he hid?3 MER: We must,And will sure find him.2 MER: Which is his study?[RE-ENTER PEREGRINE.]1 MER: WhatAre you, sir?PER: I am a merchant, that came hereTo look upon this tortoise.3 MER: How!1 MER: St. Mark!What beast is this!PER: It is a fish.2 MER: Come out here!PER: Nay, you may strike him, sir, and tread upon him;He'll bear a cart.1 MER: What, to run over him?PER: Yes, sir.3 MER: Let's jump upon him.2 MER: Can he not go?PER: He creeps, sir.1 MER: Let's see him creep.PER: No, good sir, you will hurt him.2 MER: Heart, I will see him creep, or prick his guts.3 MER: Come out here!PER: Pray you, sir![ASIDE TO SIR POLITICK.]—Creep a little.1 MER: Forth.2 MER: Yet farther.PER: Good sir!—Creep.2 MER: We'll see his legs.[THEY PULL OFF THE SHELL AND DISCOVER HIM.]3 MER: Ods so, he has garters!1 MER: Ay, and gloves!2 MER: Is thisYour fearful tortoise?PER [DISCOVERING HIMSELF.]: Now, sir Pol, we are even;For your next project I shall be prepared:I am sorry for the funeral of your notes, sir.1 MER: 'Twere a rare motion to be seen in Fleet-street.2 MER: Ay, in the Term.1 MER: Or Smithfield, in the fair.3 MER: Methinks 'tis but a melancholy sight.PER: Farewell, most politic tortoise![EXEUNT PER. AND MERCHANTS.][RE-ENTER WAITING-WOMAN.]SIR P: Where's my lady?Knows she of this?WOM: I know not, sir.SIR P: Enquire.—O, I shall be the fable of all feasts,The freight of the gazetti; ship-boy's tale;And, which is worst, even talk for ordinaries.WOM: My lady's come most melancholy home,And says, sir, she will straight to sea, for physic.SIR P: And I to shun this place and clime for ever;Creeping with house on back: and think it well,To shrink my poor head in my politic shell.[EXEUNT.]