Ben Jonson

VOLPONE

OR

THE FOX

  

 

 

The Persons of the Play
 
VOLPONE, a magnifico
MOSCA, his parasite
VOLTORE, an advocate
CORBACCIO, an old gentleman
CORVINO, a merchant
BONARIO, son to Corbaccio
SIR POLITIC WOULD-BE, a knight
PEREGRINE, a gentleman traveler
NANO, a dwarf
CASTRONE, an eunuch
ANDROGYNO, an hermaphrodite
GREGE (or Mob)
COMMENDATORI, officers of justice
MERCATORI, three merchants
AVOCATORI, four magistrates
NOTARIO, the register
LADY WOULD-BE, SIR POLITIC’S Wife
CELIA, CORVINO’S Wife
SERVITORI, Servants, two WAITING-WOMEN, &c.

 

 

 

 

 

THE SCENE, Venice
 
The Argument
 
Volpone, childless, rich, feigns sick, despairs,
Offers his state to hopes of several heirs,
Lies languishing; his parasite receives
Presents of all, assures, deludes; then weaves
Other cross plots, which ope themselves, are told.
New tricks for safety are sought; they thrive: when bold,
Each tempts the other again, and all are sold.
 
 
 
 
 
Act 1
Scene 1.1 A room in Volpone’s house.

 

[Enter Volpone and Mosca]

 

 
Volpone:
Good morning to the Day; and, next, my Gold:
Open the shrine, that I may see my Saint.

 

[MOSCA withdraws the curtain, and discovers piles of gold, plate, jewels, &c.]

 

Hayle the worlds soule, and mine. More glad then is
The teeming earth, to see the longd-for Sunne
Peepe through the hornes of the Cælestiall Ram,
Am I, to view thy splendor, darkening his:
That lying here, amongst my other hoordes,
Shew'st like a flame, by night; or like the Day
Strooke out of Chaos, when all darkenes fled
Unto the center. O thou Son of Sol,
(But brighter then thy father) let me kisse,
With adoration, thee, and euery relique
Of sacred treasure, in this blessed roome.
Well did wise Poets, by thy glorious name,
Title that age, which they would have the best;
Thou being the best of things: and far transcending
All stile of ioy, in children, parents, friends,
Or any other waking dreame on earth.
Thy lookes when they to Venus did ascribe,
They should have given her twenty thousand Cupids;
Such are thy beauties, and our loves. Deare Saint,
Riches, the dombe God, that giu'st all men tongues;
That canst do naught, and yet mak'st men do all things;
The price of soules; euen hell, with thee to boote,
Is made worth heauen. Thou art vertue, fame,
Honor, and all things else. Who can get thee
He shall be noble, valiant, honest, wise, --

 

 
Mosca:
And what he will Sir. Riches are in fortune
A greater good, then wisedome is in nature.

 

 
Volpone:
True, my beloved Mosca. Yet, I glory
More in the cunning purchasse of my wealth,
Then in the glad possession; since I gaine
No cowmon way: I vse no trade, no venter;
I wound no earth with plow-shares; fat no beasts
To feede the Shambles; have no mills for iron,
Oyle, corne, or men, to grinde them into poulder;
I blow no subtill glasse; expose no shipps
To threatnings of the furrow-faced sea;
I turne no moneys, in the publike banke;
Nor vsure priuate.

 

 
Mosca:
No Sir, nor deuoure
Soft prodigalls. You shall have some will swallow
A melting heire, as glibly, as your Dutch
Will pills of butter, and ne're purge for it;
Teare forth the fathers of poore families
Out of their beds, and coffin them aliue,
In some kinde, clasping prison, where their bones
May be forth-comming, when the flesh is rotten:
But your sweet nature doth abhorre these courses;
You loath, the widdowes, or the orphans teares
Should washe your pauements; or their pityous cries
Ring in your roofes: and beate the ayre, for vengeance.

 

 
Volpone:
Right, Mosca, I do loath it.

 

 
Mosca:
And besides, Sir,
You are not like a thresher, that doth stand
With a huge flaile, watching a heape of corne,
And, hungry, dares not taste the smallest graine,
But feedes on mallowes, and such bitter herbes;
Nor like the merchant, who hath fill'd his vaults
With Romagnia, and rich Candian wines,
Yet drinks the lees of Lombards vineger:
You will not lie in straw, whilst mothes, and wormes
Feed on your sumptuous hangings, and soft bedds.
You know the vse of riches, and dare give, now,
From that bright heape, to me, your poore obseruer,
Or to your Dwarfe, or your Hermaphrodite,
Your Eunuch, or what other houshold-trifle
Your pleasure allowes maint'nance.

 

 
Volpone:
Hold thee, Mosca,
Take of my hand; thou strik'st on truth, in all:
And they are enuious, terme thee Parasite.
Call forth my Dwarfe, my Eunuch, and my Foole,
And let them make me sport. What should I do,
But cocker up my Genius, and liue free
To all delights, my fortune calls me too?
I have no wife, no parent, childe, allye,
To give my substance too; but whome I make,
Must be my heyre: and this makes men obserue me,
This drawes new clients, dayly, to my house,
Women, and men, of euery sexe, and age,
That bring me presents, send me plate, coyne, iewels,
With hope, that when I die, (which they expect
Each greedy minute) it shall then returne
Ten-fold upon them; whilst some, couetous
Aboue the rest, seeke to engrosse me, whole,
And counter-worke, the one, unto the other,
Contend in gifts, as they would seeme, in love:
All which I suffer, playing with their hopes,
And am content to coyne them into profit,
To looke upon their kindnesse, and take more,
And looke on that; still, bearing them in hand,
Letting the cherry knock against their lips,
And, drawe it, by their mouths, and back againe. How now!

 



 

Scene 1.2
[Enter MOSCA with NANO, ANDROGYNO, and CASTRONE]

 

Nano:
Now roome, for fresh Gamsters, who do will you to know,
They do bring you neither Play, nor Vniuersity Show;
And therefore do intreat you, that whatsoeuer they reherse,
May not fare a whit the worse, for the false pase of the verse.
If you wonder at this, you will wonder more, ere we passe,
For know, here is inclos'd the Soule of Pithagoras,
That Iugler divine, as hereafter shall follow;
Which Soule (fast, and loose, sir) came first from Apollo,
And was breath'd into A Ethalides; Mercurius his son,
Where it had the gift to remember all that euer was done.
From thence it fled forth, and made quicke transmigration
To goldy-lockt Euphorbus, who was kill'd, in good fashion,
At the seege of old Troy, by the Cuckold of Sparta.
Hermotimus was next (I finde it, in my Charta')
To whom it did passe, where no sooner it was missing,
But with one Pirrhus, of Delos, it learn'd to go a fishing:
And thence, did it enter the Sophist of Greece.
From Pithagore, she went into a beautifull peece,
Hight Aspasia, the Meretrix; and the next tosse of her
Was, againe, of a Whore, she became a Philosopher,
Crates the Cynick: (as it selfe doth relate it)
Since, Kings, Knights, and Beggars, Knaues, Lords and Fooles gat it,
Besides, Oxe, and Asse, cammel, Mule, Goat, and Brock,
In all which it hath spoke, as in the Coblers Cock.
But I come not here, to discourse of that matter,
Or his One, Two, or Three, or his greath Oath, by Quater,
His Musicks, his Trigon, his golden Thigh,
Or his telling how Elements shift: but I
Would aske, how of late, thou best suffered translation,
And shifted thy coat, in these dayes of Reformation?

 

 
Androgyno:
Like one of the Reformed, a Foole, as you see,
Counting all old Doctrine heresie:

 

 
Nano:
But not on thine own forbid meates hast thou venter'd?

 

 
Androgyno:
On fish, when first, a Carthusian I enter'd.

 

 
Nano:
Why, then thy dogmaticall Silence hath left thee?

 

 
Androgyno:
Of that an obstreperous Lawyer bereft me.
 

 

Nano:
O wonderfull change! when Sir Lawyer forsooke thee,
For Pithagore's sake, what body then tooke thee?

 

 
Androgyno:
A good dull Moyle.

 

 
Nano:
And how?: by that meanes,
Thou wert brought to allow of the eating of Beanes?

 

 
Androgyno:
Yes.

 

 
Nano:
But, from the Moyle, into whome didst thou passe?

 

 
Androgyno:
Into a very strange Beast, by some Writers cal'd an Asse;
By others, a precise, pure, illuminate Brother,
Of those deuoure flesh, and sometimes one an other:
And will drop you forth a libell, or a sanctified lie,
Betwixt euery spooneful of a Natiuity Pie.

 

 
Nano:
Now quit thee, for Heauen, of that profane nation;
And gently, report thy next transmigration.

 

 
Androgyno:
To the same that I am.

 

 
Nano:
A Creature of delight?
And (what is more then a Foole) an Hermaphrodite?
Now 'pray thee, sweete Soule, in all thy variation,
Which Body wouldst thou choose, to take up thy station?

 

 
Androgyno:
Troth, this I am in, euen here would I tarry.

 

 
Nano:
Because here, the delight of each Sexe thou canst varie?

 

 
Androgyno:
Alas, those pleasures be stale, and forsaken;
No, it is your Foole, wherewith I am so taken,
The onely one Creature, that I can call blessed:
For all other formes I have prou'd most distressed.

 

 
Nano:
Spoke true, as thou wert in Pithagoras still.
This learned opinion we celebrate will,
Fellow Eunuch (as behooues us) with all our wit, and arte,
To dignifie that, whereof our selues are so great, and special a part.

 

 
Volpone:
Now very, very pretty: Mosca, this
Was thy inuention?

 

 
Mosca:
If it please my Patron,
Not else.

 

 
Volpone:
It doth good Mosca.

 

 
Mosca:
Then it was, Sir.

 

 
[NANO and CASTRONE sing]

 

Fooles, they are the onely Nation
Worth mens enuy, or admiration;
Free from care, or sorrow-taking,
Themselues, and others merry making:
All they speake, or do, is sterling.
Your Foole, he is your great mans dearling,
And your Ladies sport, and pleasure;
Tongue, and Bable are his treasure.
His very face begetteth laughter,
And he speakes truth, free from slaughter;
He is the grace of euery feast,
And, sometimes, the cheefest guest:
Hath his trencher, and his stoole,
When wit shall waite upon the Foole:
O, who would not be
He, he, he?                                                         [Knocking without.]

 

 
Volpone:
Who is that? Away!                      [Exeunt NANO and CASTRONE]
looke Mosca.

 

 
Mosca:
Foole, be gon,
It is Signior Voltore, the Aduocate,
I know him, by his knock.

 

 
Volpone:
Fetch me my gowne,
My furres, and night-caps; say, my couch is changing:
And let him intertaine himselfe, a while,
Within in the gallery. Now, now, my clients
Beginne their visitation; Vulture, Kite,
Rauen, and gor-Crowe, all my birds of prey,
That think me turning carcasse, now they come:
I am not for them yet.
[Re-enter MOSCA, with the gown, &c.]
How now? the newes?

 

 
Mosca:
A peece of plate, Sir.

 

 
Volpone:
Of what bignesse?

 

 
Mosca:
Huge,
Massie, and antique, with your name inscrib'd,
And armes ingrauen.

 

 
Volpone:
Good, And not a Foxe
Stretch'd on the earth, with fine delusiue sleights,
Mocking a gaping Crow? ha, Mosca?

 

 
Mosca:
Sharpe, Sir.

 

 
Volpone:
Give me my furres.
[Puts on his sick dress.]
Why dost thou laugh so, man?

 

 
Mosca:
I cannot choose, Sir, when I apprehend
What thoughts he has (within) 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 gaue him all, what he should be to morrow;
What large returne would come of all his venters;
How he should worship'd be, and reuerenc'd;
Ride, with his furres, and foote-cloths; waited on
By heards of Fooles, and clients; have cleare way
Made for his moyle, as letter'd as himselfe;
Be cald the great, and learned Aduocate:
And then concludes, there is nought impossible.

 

 
Volpone:
Yes, to be learned, Mosca;

 

 
Mosca:
O no: rich
Implies it. Hood an asse, with reuerend purple,
So you can hide his two ambitious eares,
And, he shall passe for a cathedrall Doctor.

 

 
Volpone:
My caps, my caps, good Mosca, fetch him in.

 

 
Mosca:
Stay, Sir, your ointment for your eyes.

 

 
Volpone:
That is true;
Dispatch, dispatch: I long to have possession
Of my new present.

 

 
Mosca:
That, and thousands more,
I hope, to see you lord of.

 

 
Volpone:
Thankes, kind Mosca.

 

 
Mosca:
And that, when I am lost in blended dust,
And hundred such, as I am, in succession --

 

 
Volpone:
Nay, that were too much, Mosca.

 

 
Mosca:
You shall liue,
Still, to delude these Harpyeis.

 

 
Volpone:
Louing Mosca,
It is well, my pillow now, and let him enter.
[Exit MOSCA]
Now, my fain'd Cough, my Pthisick, and my Goute,
My Apoplexie, Palsie, and Catarrhe,
Helpe, with your forced functions, this my posture,
Wherein, this three yeare, I have milk'd their hopes.
He comes, I heare him [coughing] (vh, vh, vh, vh) o.

 

 

 

Scene 1.3
[Enter MOSCA, introducing VOLTORE with a piece of plate]

 

 
Mosca:
You still are, what you were, Sir. Onely you
(Of all the rest) are he, commands his love:
And you do wisely to preserue it, thus,
With early visitation, and kinde notes
Of your good meaning to him, which, I know,
Cannot but come most gratefull. Patron, Sir.
Here is Signior Voltore is come --

 

 
Volpone:
What say you?

 

 
Mosca:
Sir Signior Voltore is come, this morning,
To visit you.

 

 
Volpone:
I thanke him.

 

 
Mosca:
And hath brought
A peece of antique plate, bought of S t Marke,
With which he here presents you.

 

 
Volpone:
He is welcome.
Pray him, to come more often.

 

 
Mosca:
Yes.

 

 
Voltore:
What saies he?

 

 
Mosca:
He thankes you, and desires you see him often.

 

 
Volpone:
Mosca.

 

 
Mosca:
My Patron?

 

 
Volpone:
Bring him neare, where is he?
I long to feele his hand.

 

 
Mosca:
The plate is here Sir.

 

 
Voltore:
How fare you Sir?

 

 
Volpone:
I thanke you, Signior Voltore.
Where is the plate? mine eyes are bad.

 

 
Voltore:
[putting it into his hands] I am sorry,
To see you still thus weake.

 

 
Mosca:
[aside]
That he is not weaker.

 

 
Volpone:
You are too munificent.

 

 
Voltore:
No Sir. would to heauen,
I could as well give health to you, as that plate.

 

 
Volpone:
You give Sir what you can. I thanke you. Your love
Hath tast in this, and shall not be vnanswer'd.
I pray you see me often.

 

 
Voltore:
Yes, I shall Sir.

 

 
Volpone:
Be not far from me.

 

 
Mosca:
Do you obserue that Sir?

 

 
Volpone:
Hearken unto me, still. It will concerne you.

 

 
Mosca:
You are a happy man Sir, know your good.

 

 
Volpone:
I cannot now last long.

 

 
Mosca:
You are his heyre Sir.

 

 
Voltore:
Am I?

 

 
Volpone:
I feele me going, (vh,vh,vh,vh.)
I am sayling to my port, (vh,vh,vh,vh?)
And I am glad, I am so neere my haven.

 

 
Mosca:
Alas, kinde gentleman, well, we must all go.

 

 
Voltore:
But, Mosca.

 

 
Mosca:
Age will conquer.

 

 
Voltore:
'Pray thee heare me.
Am I inscrib'd his heire, for certain?

 

 
Mosca:
Are you?
I do beseech you Sir you will vouchsafe
To write me, in your family. All my hopes,
Depend upon your worship; I am lost,
Except the rising Sunne do shine on me.

 

 
Voltore:
It shall both shine, and warme thee, Mosca.

 

 
Mosca:
Sir.
I am a man, that have not done your love
All the worst offices here I weare your keys,
See all your coffers, and your caskets lockt,
Keepe the poore inuentorie of your iewels,
Your plate, and moneyes, am your Steward Sir.
Husband your goods here.

 

 
Voltore:
But am I sole heyre?

 

 
Mosca:
Without a partner Sir confirmde this morning;
The waxe is warme yet, and the inke scarse dry
Upon the parchment:

 

 
Voltore:
Happy, happy me!
By what good chance, sweete Mosca?

 

 
Mosca:
Your desert Sir;
I know no second cause.

 

 
Voltore:
Thy modesty
Is loath to know it; well, we shall requite it.

 

 
Mosca:
He euer lik'd your course Sir. That first tooke him.
I, oft, have heard him say, how he admir'd
Men of your large profession, that could speake
To euery cause, and things mere contraries,
Till they were hearse againe, yet all be Law;
That, with most quicke agility, could turne,
And returne; make knots, and vndoe them;
Give forked councell; take prouoking gold
On eyther hand, and put it up: These men,
He knewe, would thriue, with their humility.
And (for his part) he thought, he should be blest
To have his heyre of such a suffering spirit,
So wise, so graue, of so perplex'd a tongue,
And loud withall, that would not wag, nor scarce
Lie still, without a fee; when euery word
Your worship but lets fall, is a Cecchine.
                                                                                                            [Knocking without]
Who is that? One knockes, I would not have you seen Sir.
And yet -- pretend you came, and went in hast;
I will fashion an excuse. And, gentle Sir,
When you do come to swim, in golden lard,
Up to the armes, in honey, that your chin
Is borne up stiffe, with fatnesse of the flood,
Think on your vassall; but remember me:
I have not beene your worst of clients.

 

 
Voltore:
Mosca --

 

 
Mosca:
When will you have your inuentory brought, Sir
Or see a coppy of the Will? Anone,
I will bring them to you Sir. Away, be gon,
Put businesse in your face.
[Exit VOLTORE.]

 

 
Volpone:
Excellent Mosca!
Come hither, let me kisse thee.

 

 
Mosca:
Keepe you still Sir.
Here is Corbaccio.

 

 
Volpone:
Set the plate away,
The Vulture is gone, and the old Rauen is come.

 

 

 

Scene 1.4

 

 
Mosca:
Betake you, to your silence, and your sleepe:
[Puts the plate away] Stand there, and multiply. Now, shall we see
A wretch, who is (indeed) more impotent,
Then this can fayne to be; yet hopes to hop
Ouer his graue. [Enter CORBACCIO] Signior Corbaccio,
You are very welcome, Sir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
How does your Patron?

 

 
Mosca:
Troth as he did, Sir, no amends.

 

 
Corbaccio:
What? mendes he?

 

 
Mosca:
No, Sir: he is rather worse.

 

 
Corbaccio:
That is well. Where is he?

 

 
Mosca:
Upon his couch Sir, newly fall'n a sleepe.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Does he sleepe well?

 

 
Mosca:
No winke, Sir, all this night,
Nor yesterday, but slumbers.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Good. He should take
Some counsell of Physitians: I have brought him
An Opiate here, from mine own Doctor --

 

 
Mosca:
He will not heare of drugs.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Why? I my selfe
Stood by while it was made; saw all the ingredients:
And know, it cannot but most gently worke.
My life for his, it is but to make him sleepe.

 

 
Volpone:
Aye, his last sleepe, if he would take it.

 

 
Mosca:
Sir.
He has no faith in Physick:

 

 
Corbaccio:
'Say you? 'say you?

 

 
Mosca:
He has no faith in Physick: He does think
Most of your Doctors are the greater danger,
And worse disease, to escape. I often have
Heard him protest, that your Physitian
Should neuer be his heyre.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Not I his heyre?

 

 
Mosca:
Not your Physitian, Sir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
O, no, no, no,
I do not meane it.

 

 
Mosca:
No Sir, nor their fees
He cannot brooke: He sayes, they flea a man,
Before they kill him.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Right, I conceiue you.

 

 
Mosca:
And then, they do it by experiment;
For which the Law not onely doth absolue them,
But giues them great reward: And, he is loath
To hire his death, so.

 

 
Corbaccio:
It is true, they kill,
With as much licence, as a Iudge.

 

 
Mosca:
Nay more;
For he but kills, Sir, where the Law condemnes,
And these can kill him, too;

 

 
Corbaccio:
Aye, or me:
Or any man. How does his Apoplexe?
Is that strong on him, still?

 

 
Mosca:
Most violent.
His speech is broken, and his eyes are set,
His face drawne longer, then it was wont --

 

 
Corbaccio:
How? how?
Stronger, then he was wont?

 

 
Mosca:
No, Sir: his face
Drawne longer, then it was wont.

 

 
Corbaccio:
O, good.

 

 
Mosca:
His mouth
Is euer gaping, and his eye-lids hang.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Good.

 

 
Mosca:
A freezing numnesse stiffens all his ioynts,
And makes the colour of his flesh like lead.

 

 
Corbaccio:
It is good.

 

 
Mosca:
His pulse beats slow, and dull.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Good symptomes, still.

 

 
Mosca:
And, from his braine --

 

 
Corbaccio:
Ha? how? not from his braine?

 

 
Mosca:
Yes, Sir, and from his braine --

 

 
Corbaccio:
I conceiue you, good.

 

 
Mosca:
Flowes a cold sweat, with a continuall rhewme,
Forth the resolued corners of his eyes.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Is it possible? yet I am better, ha!
How does he, with the swimming of his head?

 

 
Mosca:
O, Sir it is past the Scotomy; he, now,
Hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort:
You hardly can perceiue him, that he breaths.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Excellent, excellent, sure I shall outlast him:
This makes me yong againe, a score of yeares.

 

 
Mosca:
I was a coming for you, Sir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Has he made his Will?
What has he giu'n me?

 

 
Mosca:
No, Sir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Nothing? ha?

 

 
Mosca:
He has not made his Will, Sir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
O, o, o.
But what did Voltore, the Lawyer, here?

 

 
Mosca:
He smelt a carcasse Sir, when he but heard
My maister was about his Testament;
As I did vrge him to it, for your good --

 

 
Corbaccio:
He came unto him, did he? I thought so.

 

 
Mosca:
Yes, and presented him this peece of plate.

 

 
Corbaccio:
To be his heire?

 

 
Mosca:
I do not know Sir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
True,
I know it too.

 

 
Mosca:
[aside]
By your own scale, Sir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Well,
I shall preuent him, yet. See Mosca, looke,
Here, I have brought a bag of bright Cecchines,
Will quite weigh downe his plate.

 

 
Mosca:
[taking the bag] Yea marry, Sir.
This is true Physick, this your sacred Medicine,
No talke of Opiates, to this great Elixir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
It is Aurum palpabile, if not potabile.

 

 
Mosca:
It shall be minister'd to him, in his boule?

 

 
Corbaccio:
Aye, do, do, do.

 

 
Mosca:
Most blessed Cordiall,
This will recouer him.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Yes, do, do, do.

 

 
Mosca:
I think, it were not best, Sir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
What?

 

 
Mosca:
To recouer him.

 

 
Corbaccio:
O, no, no, no; by no meanes.

 

 
Mosca:
Why, Sir. this
Will work some strange effect if he but feele it.

 

 
Corbaccio:
It is true, therefore forbeare; I will take my venter:
Give me it againe.

 

 
Mosca:
At no hand, pardon me;
You shall not do your selfe that wrong Sir I
Will so aduise you, you shall have it all.

 

 
Corbaccio:
How?

 

 
Mosca:
All Sir it is your right, your own; no man
Can claime a part: it is yours, without a riuall,
Decre'd by destiny.

 

 
Corbaccio:
How? how, good Mosca?

 

 
Mosca:
I will tell you Sir. This fit he shall recouer;

 

 
Corbaccio:
I do conceiue you.

 

 
Mosca:
And, on first aduantage
Of his gain'd sense, will I re-importune him
Unto the making of his Testament:
And shew him this.                                [Pointing to the money]

 

 
Corbaccio:
Good, good.

 

 
Mosca:
It is better yet,
If you will heare, Sir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Yes, with all my heart.

 

 
Mosca:
Now, would I councell you, make home with speed;
There, frame a Will; whereto you shall inscribe
My maister your sole heyre.

 

 
Corbaccio:
And disinherit
My son?

 

 
Mosca:
O Sir, the better: for that colour
Shall make it much more taking.

 

 
Corbaccio:
O, but colour?

 

 
Mosca:
This Will Sir, you shall send it unto me.
Now, when I come to inforce (as I will do)
Your cares, your watchings, and your many prayers,
Your more then many gifts, your this dayes present,
And last, produce your Will; where (without thought,
Or least regard, unto your proper issue,
A son so braue, and highly meriting)
The streame of your diuerted love hath throwne you
Upon my maister, and made him your heyre:
He cannot be so stupide, or stone dead,
But, out of conscience, and mere gratitude --

 

 
Corbaccio:
He must pronounce me, his?

 

 
Mosca:
It is true.

 

 
Corbaccio:
This plot
Did I think on before.

 

 
Mosca:
I do beleeue it.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Do you not beleeue it?

 

 
Mosca:
Yes Sir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Mine own proiect.

 

 
Mosca:
Which when he hath done, Sir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Publish'd me his heire?

 

 
Mosca:
And you so certaine, to suruiue him.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Aye.

 

 
Mosca:
Beeing so lusty a man.

 

 
Corbaccio:
It is true.

 

 
Mosca:
Yes Sir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
I thought on that too. See, how he should be
The very organ, to expresse my thoughts!

 

 
Mosca:
You have not onely done your selfe a good,

 

 
Corbaccio:
But multiplied it on my son?

 

 
Mosca:
It is right, Sir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Still, my inuention.

 

 
Mosca:
'Lasse Sir, heauen knowes,
It hath beene all my study, all my care,
(I even grow grey withall) how to worke things --

 

 
Corbaccio:
I do conceiue, sweet Mosca.

 

 
Mosca:
You are he,
For whom I labour, here.

 

 
Corbaccio:
Aye, do, do, do:
I will straight about it.                                                        [Going.]

 

 
Mosca:
Rooke go with you, Rauen.

 

 
Corbaccio:
I know thee honest.

 

 
Mosca:
[aside] You do lie, Sir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
And --

 

 
Mosca:
Your knowledge is no better then your eares, Sir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
I do not doubt, to be a father to thee.

 

 
Mosca:
Nor I, to gull my brother of his blessing.

 

 
Corbaccio:
I may have my youth restor'd to me, why not?

 

 
Mosca:
Your worship is a precious asse.

 

 
Corbaccio:
What sayest thou?

 

 
Mosca:
I do desire your worship, to make hast, Sir.

 

 
Corbaccio:
It is done, it is done, I go.                                         [Exit]

 

 
Volpone:
[leaping from his couch]
O, I shall burst;
Let out my sides, let out my sides --

 

 
Mosca:
Containe
Your fluxe of laughter, Sir; you know, this hope
Is such a baite, it couers any hooke.

 

 
Volpone:
O, but thy working, and thy placing it!
I cannot hold; good rascall, let me kisse thee:
I neuer knew thee, in so rare a humor.

 

 
Mosca:
Alas Sir, I but do, as I am taught;
Follow your graue instructions; give them words;
Powre oyle into their eares: and send them hence.

 

 
Volpone:
It is true, it is true. What a rare punishment
Is auarice, to it selfe?

 

 
Mosca:
Aye, with our help, Sir.

 

 
Volpone:
So many cares, so many maladies,
So many feares attending on old age,
Yea, death so often call'd on, as no wish
Can be more frequent with them, their limbes 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 liue longer!
Feeles not his gout, nor palsy, faines himselfe
Yonger, by scores of yeares, flatters his age,
With confident bellying it, hopes he may
With charmes, like A Eson, have his youth restor'd,
And with these thoughts so battens, as if Fate
Would be as easily cheated on, as he,
And all turnes ayre! [Knocking within] Who is that, there, now? a third?

 

 
Mosca:
Close, to your couch againe: I heare his voice.
It is Coruino, our spruce merchant.

 

 
Volpone:
[lies down as before]   Dead.

 

 
Mosca:
Another bout, Sir, with your eyes. Who is there?

 

 

 

 

 

Scene 1.5
[Enter CORVINO]

 

 
Mosca:
Signior Coruino! come most wisht for! O,
How happy were you, if you knew it, now!

 

 
Corvino:
Why? what? wherein?

 

 
Mosca:
The tardie houre is come, Sir.

 

 
Corvino:
He is not dead?

 

 
Mosca:
Not dead, Sir, but as good;
He knowes no man.

 

 
Corvino:
How shall I do then?

 

 
Mosca:
Why sir?

 

 
Corvino:
I have brought him, here, a Pearle.

 

 
Mosca:
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 Pearle orient, Sir?

 

 
Corvino:
Venice was neuer owner of the like.

 

 
Volpone:
[faintly]
Signior Coruino.

 

 
Mosca:
Hearke.

 

 
Volpone:
Signior
Coruino.

 

 
Mosca:
He calls you, step and give it him. He is here, Sir,
And he has brought you a rich Pearle.

 

 
Corvino:
How do you
Sir?
Tell him, it doubles the twelfe Caract.

 

 
Mosca:
Sir,
He cannot vnderstand, his hearing is gone;
And yet it comforts him, to see you --

 

 
Corvino:
Say,
I have a Diamant for him, too.

 

 
Mosca:
Best shew it Sir,
Put it into his hand; it is onely there
He apprehends: He has his feeling, yet.
See, how he graspes it!

 

 
Corvino:
'Lasse, good gentleman!
How pittifull the sight is!

 

 
Mosca:
Tut, forget Sir.
The weeping of an heyre should still be laughter,
Vnder a visor.

 

 
Corvino:
Why? am I his heyre?

 

 
Mosca:
Sir, I am sworne, I may not shew the Will,
Till he be dead: But, here has beene Corbaccio,
Here has beene Voltore, here were others too,
I cannot nomber them, they were so many,
All gaping here for legacyes; but I,
Taking the vantage of his naming you,
(Signior Coruino, Signior Coruino,) tooke
Paper, and pen, and ynke, and there I ask'd him,
Whom he would have his heyre? Coruino: Who
Should be executor, Coruino: And,
To any question, he was silent too,
I still interpreted the noddes, he made,
(Though weakenesse) for consent: and sent home the others,
Nothing bequeath'd them, but to crie, and curse.

 

 
Corvino:
O, my deare Mosca. [They embrace] Does he not perceiue us?

 

 
Mosca:
No more then a blinde harper. He knowes no man,
No face of friend, nor name of any seruant,
Who it was that fed him last, or gaue him drinke:
Not those, he hath begotten, or brought up
Can he remember.

 

 
Corvino:
Has he children?

 

 
Mosca:
Bastards,
Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars,
Gipseys, and Iewes, and Black-moores, when he was drunke.
Knew you not that Sir? it is the common fable.
The Dwarfe, the Foole, the Eunuch are all his;
He is the true father of his familie,
In all, saue me: but he has giu'n them nothing.

 

 
Corvino:
That is well, that is well. Art sure he does not heare us?

 

 
Mosca:
Sure Sir? why looke you, credit your own sense.
[Shouts in Volpone’s ear]
The Poxe approch, and adde to your diseases,
If it would send you hence the sooner, Sir.
For, your incontinence, it hath deseru'd it
Throughly, and throughly, and the Plague to boot.
(You may come neere, Sir) Would you would once close
Those filthy eyes of yours, that flowe with slime,
Like two frog-pits; and those same hanging cheekes,
Couer'd with hide, in steede of skinne: (nay helpe, Sir)
That looke like frozen dish-clouts, set on end.

 

 
Corvino:
Or, like an old smoak'd wall, on which the raine
Ran downe in streakes.

 

 
Mosca:
Excellent, Sir, speake out;
You may be lowder yet: A Culuering,
Discharged in his eare would hardly bore it.

 

 
Corvino:
His nose is like a common sewre, still running;

 

 
Mosca:
It is good: and, what his mouth?

 

 
Corvino:
A very draught.

 

 
Mosca:
O stop it up --

 

 
Corvino:
By no meanes;

 

 
Mosca:
'Pray you let me.
Faith, I could stifle him, rarely, with a pillow,
As well, as any woman, that should keepe him.

 

 
Corvino:
Do as you will, but I will be gone.

 

 
Mosca:
Be so;
It is your presence makes him last so long.

 

 
Corvino:
I pray you, vse no violence.

 

 
Mosca:
No, Sir? why?
Why should you be thus scrupulous? 'pray you, Sir.

 

 
Corvino:
Nay, at your discretion.

 

 
Mosca:
Well, good Sir, be gone.

 

 
Corvino:
I will not trouble him now, to take my Pearle?

 

 
Mosca:
Puh, nor your Diamant. What a needelesse care
Is this afflicts you? Is not all, here yours?
Am not I here? whom you have made? your creature?
That owe my beeing to you?

 

 
Corvino:
Gratefull Mosca:
Thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion,
My partner, and shalt share in all my fortunes.

 

 
Mosca:
Excepting one.

 

 
Corvino:
What is that?

 

 
Mosca:
Your gallant wife, Sir.                                                        [Exit Corvino]
Now, is he gone; we had no other meanes,
To shoote him hence, but this.

 

 
Volpone:
My diuine Mosca!
Thou hast to day out-gone thy selfe.
[Knocking within] Who is there?
I will be troubled with no more. Prepare
Me musicke, dances, banquets, all delights;
The Turke is not more sensual, in his pleasures,
Then will Volpone. Let me see, a Pearle?
A Diamant? Plat? Cecchines? good mornings purchase;
Why this is better then rob Churches, yet:
Or fat, by eating (once a mon'th) a man.                         [Enter MOSCA]
Who is it?

 

 
Mosca:
The beauteous Lady Would-bee, Sir.
Wife, to the English Knight, Sir Politique Would-bee,
(This is the stile, Sir, is directed me)
Hath sent to know, how you have slept to night,
And if you would be visited.

 

 
Volpone:
Not, now.
Some three houres, hence --

 

 
Mosca:
I told the Squire, so much.

 

 
Volpone:
When I am high with mirth, and wine; then, then.
'Fore heauen, I wonder at the desperate valure
Of the bold English, that they dare let loose
Their wiues, to all encounters!

 

 
Mosca:
Sir, this Knight
Had not his name for nothing, he is politique,
And knowes, how ere his wife affect strange ayres,
She hath not yet the face, to be dishonest.
But had she Signior Coruino's wiues face --

 

 
Volpone:
Has she so rare a face?

 

 
Mosca:
O Sir, the wonder,
The blazing Starre of Italy; a wench
Of the first yeare, a beauty, ripe, as haruest!
Whose skinne is whiter then a Swan, all ouer!
Then siluer, snow, or lillies! a soft lip,
Would tempt you to eternity of kissing!
And flesh, that melteth, in the touch, to bloud!
Bright as your gold, and lovely, as your gold!

 

 
Volpone:
Why had not I knowne this, before?

 

 
Mosca:
Alas,
Sir.
My selfe, but yesterday, discouer'd it.

 

 
Volpone:
How might I see her?

 

 
Mosca:
O, not possible;
She is kept as warily, as is your gold:
Neuer does come abroad, neuer takes ayre,
But at a windore. All her lookes are sweet,
As the first grapes, or cherries; and are watch'd
As neare, as they are.

 

 
Volpone:
I must see her --

 

 
Mosca:
Sir.
There is a guard, of ten spies thick, upon her;
All his whole houshold: each of which is set
Upon his fellow, and have all their charge,
When he goes out, when he comes in, examin'd.

 

 
Volpone:
I will go see her, though but at her windore.

 

 
Mosca:
In some disguise, then?

 

 
Volpone:
That is true, I must
Maintaine mine own shape, still, the same: we will think.
[Exeunt]

 

 

 

Act 2
Scene 2.1 St. Mark’s Place, before CORVINO’S house

 

 
Sir Politic:
Sir, to a wise man, all the world is his foile.
It is not Italy, nor France, nor Europe,
That must bound me, if my Fates call me forth.
Yet, I protest, it is no salt desire
Of seeing Countries, shifting a Religion,
Nor any dis-affection to the State
Where I was bred, (and, unto which I owe
My dearest plots) hath brought me out; much lesse,
That idle, antique, stale, grey-headed proiect
Of knowing mens mindes, and manners, with Vlisses:
But, a peculiar humour of my wiues,
Layd for this height of Venice, to obserue,
To quote, to learne the language, and so forth --
I hope you trauell, Sir, with licence?

 

 
Peregrine:
Yes.

 

 
Sir Politic:
I dare the safelier conuerse -- How long, Sir,
Since you left England?

 

 
Peregrine:
Seauen weekes.

 

 
Sir Politic:
So lately!
You have not beene with my Lord Ambassador?

 

 
Peregrine:
Not yet, Sir.

 

 
Sir Politic:
'Pray you, what newes, Sir, vents our climate?
I heard, last night, a most strange thing reported
By some of my Lords followers, and I long
To heare, how it will be seconded!

 

 
Peregrine:
What was it, Sir?

 

 
Sir Politic:
Marry, Sir, of a Rauen, that should build
In a ship royall of the Kings.

 

 
Peregrine:
[aside]
This fellow
Does he gull me, trow? or is gull'd? your name Sir?

 

 
Sir Politic:
My name is Politique Would-bee.

 

 
Peregrine:
O, that speaks him.
[aside] A Knight, Sir?

 

 
Sir Politic:
A poore Knight, Sir.

 

 
Peregrine:
Your Lady
Lies here, in Venice, for intelligence
Of tires, and fashions, and behauiour,
Among the Curtizans? the fine Lady Would-be?

 

 
Sir Politic:
Yes; Sir; the spider, and the bee, oft times,
Suck from one flower.

 

 
Peregrine:
Good Sir Politique!
I crie you mercy; I have heard much of you:
It is true, Sir, of your Rauen.

 

 
Sir Politic:
On your knowledge?

 

 
Peregrine:
Yes, and your Lions whelping, in the Tower.

 

 
Sir Politic:
Another whelpe?

 

 
Peregrine:
Another, Sir.

 

 
Sir Politic:
Now heauen!
What prodigies be these? The Fires at Berwike!
And the new Starre! these things concurring, strange!
And full of omen! Saw you those Meteors?

 

 
Peregrine:
I did Sir.

 

 
Sir Politic:
Fearefull! Pray you Sir, confirme me,
Were there three Porcpisces seene, aboue the Bridge,
As they give out?

 

 
Peregrine:
Sixe, and a Sturgeon, Sir.

 

 
Sir Politic:
I am astonish'd.

 

 
Peregrine:
Nay sir, be not so;
I will tell you a greater prodigie, then these --

 

 
Sir Politic:
What should these things portend!

 

 
Peregrine:
The very day
(Let me be sure) that I put forth from London,
There was a Whale discouer'd, in the riuer,
As high as Woollwich, that had waited there
(Few know how many moneths) for the subuersion
Of the Stode-Fleete.

 

 
Sir Politic:
Is it possible? Beleeue it,
It was either sent from Spaine, or the Arch-duke,
Spinola's Whale, upon my life, my credit;
Will they not leaue these proiects? Worthy Sir,
Some other newes.

 

 
Peregrine:
Faith, Stone, the Foole, is dead;
And they do lack a tauerne-Foole, extremely.

 

 
Sir Politic:
Is Mass' Stone dead?

 

 
Peregrine:
He is dead Sir; why? I hope
You thought him not immortall? [Aside.] O this Knight
(Were he well knowne) would be a precious thing
To fit our English Stage: He that should write
But such a fellow, should be thought to faine
Extremely, if not maliciously.

 

 
Sir Politic:
Stone dead?

 

 
Peregrine:
Dead. Lord! how deepely Sir you apprehend it?
He was no kinsman to you?

 

 
Sir Politic:
That I know of.
Well! that same fellow was an vnknowne Foole.

 

 
Peregrine:
And yet you know him, it seemes?

 

 
Sir Politic:
I did so. Sir,
I knew him one of the most dangerous heads
Liuing within the State, and so I held him.

 

 
Peregrine:
Indeed Sir?

 

 
Sir Politic:
While he liu'd, in action.
He has receiu'd weekely intelligence,
Upon my knowledge, out of the Low Countries,
(For all parts of the world) in cabages;
And those dispens'd, againe, to Ambassadors,
In oranges, musk-melons, apricocks,
Limons, pome-citrons, and such like: sometimes,
In Colchester-oysters, and your Selsey-cockles.

 

 
Peregrine:
You make me wonder!

 

 
Sir Politic:
Sir. upon my knowledge.
Nay, I, have obseru'd him, at your publique Ordinary,
Take his aduertisement, from a Traueller
(A conceald States-man) in a trencher of meate;
And, instantly, before the meale was done,
Conuay an answer in a tooth-pick.

 

 
Peregrine:
Strange!
How could this be, Sir?

 

 
Sir Politic:
Why, the meate was cut
So like his character, and so layd, as he
Must easily read the cipher.

 

 
Peregrine:
I have heard, he could not read, Sir.

 

 
Sir Politic:
So, it was giuen out,
(In pollitie,) by those, that did imploy him:
But he could read, and had your languages,
And to it, as sound a noddle --

 

 
Peregrine:
I have heard, Sir,
That your Babiouns were spies; and that they were
A kinde of subtle Nation, neare to China:

 

 
Sir Politic:
Aye, aye, your Mamuluchi. Faith, they had
Their hand in a French plot, or two; but they
Were so extremely giuen to women, as
They made discouery of all: Yet I
Had my aduises here (on wensday last)
From one of their own coat, they were return'd,
Made their relations (as the fashion is)
And now stand faire, for fresh imployment.

 

 
Peregrine:
[aside]
'Hart!
This Sir Poll: will be ignorant of nothing.
It seemes Sir, you know all?

 

 
Sir Politic:
Not all Sir. But,
I have some generall notions; I do love
To note, and to obserue: Though I liue out,
Free from the actiue torrent, yet I would marke
The currents, and the passages of things,
For mine own priuate vse; and know the ebbes,
And flowes of State.

 

 
Peregrine:
Beleeueit, Sir, I hold
My selfe, in no small tie, unto my fortunes,
For casting me thus luckely, upon you;
Whose knowledge (if your bounty equall it)
May do me great assistance, in instruction
For my behauiour, and my bearing, which
Is yet so rude, and raw --

 

 
Sir Politic:
Why? came you forth
Empty of rules, for trauayle?

 

 
Peregrine:
Faith, I had
Some common ones, from out that vulgar Grammar,
Which he, that cri'd Italian to me, taught me.

 

 
Sir Politic:
Why, this it is, that spoiles all our braue blouds,
Trusting our hopefull gentry unto Pedants,
Fellowes of out-side, and mere barke. You seeme
To be a gentleman, of ingenuous race --
I not professe it, but my fate hath beene
To be, where I have been consulted with,
In this high kinde, touching some great mens sons,
Persons of bloud, and honor --

 

 
Peregrine:
[seeing people approach]  Who be these, Sir?

 

 

 

 

 

Scene 2.2
[Enter MOSCA and NANO disguised, followed by persons with materials for erecting a stage]

 

 
Mosca:
Vnder that windore, there it must be. The same.

 

 
Sir Politic:
Fellowes, to mount a banke! Did your instructer
In the deare Tongues, neuer discourse to you
Of the Italian Montebankes?

 

 
Peregrine:
Yes, Sir.

 

 
Sir Politic:
Why,
Here shall you see one.

 

 
Peregrine:
They are Quack-saluers,
Fellowes, that liue by venting oyles, and drugs?

 

 
Sir Politic:
Was that the character he gaue you of them?

 

 
Peregrine:
As I remember.

 

 
Sir Politic:
Pittie his ignorance.
They are the onely-knowing men of Europe,
Great, generall Schollers, excellent Phisitians,
Most admir'd States-men, profest Fauorites,
And cabinet-Councellors, to the greatest Princes:
The onely Languag'd-men, of all the world.

 

 
Peregrine:
And, I have heard, they are most lewd impostors;
Made all of termes, and shreds; no lesse beliers
Of great-mens fauors, then their own vile med'cines;
Which they will vtter upon monstrous othes:
Selling that drug, for two pence, ere they part,
Which they have valew'd at twelue crownes, before.

 

 
Sir Politic:
Sir, calumnies are answer'd best with silence;
Your selfe shall iudge. Who is it mounts, my friends?

 

 
Mosca:
Scoto of Mantua, Sir.

 

 
Sir Politic:
Is it he? nay, then
I will proudly promise, Sir, you shall behold
Another man, then has beene phant'sied to you.
I wonder, yet, that he should mount his banke
Here, in this nooke, that has beene wont to appeare
In face of the Piazza! Here, he comes.

 

[Enter VOLPONE disguised as a mountebank and followed by a crowd of people]

 

 
Volpone:
[to NANO] Mount Zany.

 

 
Mob:
Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow.

 

 
Sir Politic:
See how the people follow him! he is a man
May write 10000. Crownes, in Banke, here. Note,
[VOLPONE mounts the stage]
Marke but his gesture; I do vse to obserue
The state he keepes, in getting up!

 

 
Peregrine:
It is worth it, Sir.

 

 
Volpone:
Most noble Gent: and my worthy Patrons, it may seeme strange, that I, your Scoto Mantuano, who was euer wont to fixe my Banke in face of the publike Piazza, neare the shelter of the portico, to the Procuratia, should, now (after eight months absence, from this illustrous Citty of Venice) humbly retire my selfe, into an obscure nooke of the Piazza.

 

 
Sir Politic:
Did not I, now, obiect the same?

 

 
Peregrine:
Peace, Sir.

 

 
Volpone:
Let me tel you: I am not (as your Lombard Prouerbe sayth) cold on my feete, or content to part with my commodities at a cheaper rate, then I accustomed; looke not for it. Nor, that the calumnious reports of that impudent detractor, and shame to our profession, (Alessandro Buttone, I meane) who gaue out, in publike, I was condemn'd a'Sforzato to the Galleys, for poysoning the Cardinall Bemboos -- Cooke, hath at all attached, much lesse deiected me. No, no, worthie Gent: (to tell you true) I cannot indure, to see the rable of these ground Ciarlitani, that spread their clokes on the pauement, as if they meant to do feates of actiuitie, and then come in, lamely, with their mouldy tales out of Boccacio, like stale Tabarine, the Fabulist: some of them discoursing their trauells, and of their tedious captiuity in the Turkes Galleyes, when indeed (were the truth knowne) they were the Christians Galleyes, where very temperately, they eate bread, and drunke water, as a wholesome pennance (enioyn'd them by their Confessors) for base pilferies.

 

 
Sir Politic:
Note but his bearing, and contempt of these.

 

 
Volpone:
These turdy-facy-nasty-patie-lousie-farticall rogues, with one poore groats-worth of vnprepar'd antimony, finely wrapt up in seuerall 'Scartoccios, are able, very well, to kill their twenty a weeke, and play; yet these meagre steru'd spirits, who have halfe stopt the organs of their mindes with earthy oppilations, want not their fauourers among your shriuel'd, sallad-eating Artizans: who are ouerioy'd, that they may have their halfeperth of Physick, though it purge them into another world, makes no matter.

 

 
Sir Politic:
Excellent! have you heard better Language, Sir?

 

 
Volpone:
Well, let them go. And Gentlemen, honourable Gentlemen, know, that for this time, our Banque, being thus remou'd from the clamours of the Canaglia, shall be the Scene of pleasure, and delight; For I have nothing to sell, little or nothing to sell.

 

 
Sir Politic:
I told you, Sir; his ende.

 

 
Peregrine:
You did so, Sir.

 

 
Volpone:
I protest, I, and my sixe seruants, are not able to make of this pretious liquor, so fast, as it is fetch'd away from my lodging, by Gentlemen of your Citty; strangers of the Terra-ferma; worshipful Merchants; aye, and Senators too: who, euer since my arriuall, have detained me to their vses, by their splendidous liberalities. And worthily. For what auayles your rich man to have his magazines stuft with Moscadelli, or the purest grape, when his Physitians prescribe him (on paine of death) to drinke nothing but water, cocted with Anise-seeds? O health! health! the blessing of the rich, the riches of the poore! who can buy thee at too deare a rate, since there is no enioying this world, without thee? Be not then so sparing of your purses, honorable Gentlemen, as to abridge the naturall course of life --

 

 
Peregrine:
You see his ende?

 

 
Sir Politic:
Aye, is it good?

 

 
Volpone:
For, when a humide Fluxe, or Catarrhe, by the mutability of ayre, falls from your head, into an arme or shouilder, or any other part; take you a Duckat, or your Cecchine of gold, and applie to the place affected: see, what good effect it can worke. No, no, it is this blessed Vnguento, this rare Extraction, that hath onely power to disperse all malignant humors, that proceede, either of hot, cold, moist or windy causes --

 

 
Peregrine:
I would he had put in dry too.

 

 
Sir Politic:
'pray you, obserue.

 

 
Volpone:
To fortifie the most indigest, and crude stomacke, aye, were it of one, that (through extreame weakenesse) vomited bloud, applying onely a warme napkin to the place, after the vnction, and fricace; For the Vertigine, in the head, putting but a drop into your nostrills, likewise, behind the eares; a most soueraigne, and approoued remedy. The Mall-caduco, Crampes, Convulsions, Paralysies, Epilepsies, Tremor-cordia, retired-Nerues, ill Vapours of the spleene, Stoppings of the Liuer, the Stone, the Strangury, Hernia ventosa, Iliaca passio; stops a Disenteria, immediatly; easeth the torsion of the small guts: and cures Melancolia hypocondriaca, being taken and applyed, according to my printed Receipt. For, this is the Physitian, this the medicine; this councells, this cures; this giues the direction, this works the effect: and (in summe) both together may be term'd an abstract of the theorick, and practick in the A Esculapian Art. It will cost you eight Crownes. And, Zan Fritada, 'pray thee sing a verse, extempore, in honour of it.

 

 
Sir Politic:
How do you like him, Sir?

 

 
Peregrine:
Most strangely, I!

 

 
Sir Politic:
Is not his language rare?

 

 
Peregrine:
But Alchimy,
I neuer heard the like: or Broughtons bookes.

 

 
[NANO sings]
 

Had old Hippocrates, or Galen,

(That to their bookes put med'cines all in)

But knowne this secret, they had neuer

(Of which they will be guilty euer)

Beene murderers of so much paper,

Or wasted many a hurtlesse taper:

No Indian drug had ere beene famed,

Tabacco, Sassafras not named;

Ne yet, of Guacum one small stick, Sir,

Nor Raymund Lullies greate Elixir.

Ne, had beene knowne the danish Gonswart.

Or Paracelsus, with his long-sword.

 

 
Peregrine:
All this, yet, will not do, eight Crownes is high.

 

 
Volpone:
No more; Gentlemen, if I had but time to discourse to you the miraculous effects of this my oyle, surnamed oglio del Scoto, with the count-lesse catalogue of those I have cured of the aforesayd, and many more diseases, the Pattents and Priuiledges of all the Princes, and Common-wealthes of Christendome, or but the depositions of those that appear'd on my part, before the Signiry of the Sanita', and most learned Colledge of Physitians; where I was authorized, upon notice taken of the admirable vertues of my medicaments, and mine own excellency, in matter of rare, and vnknowne secrets, not onely to disperse them publiquely in this famous Citty, but in all the Territories, that happely ioy vnder the gouernment of the most pious and magnificent States of Italy. But may some other gallant fellow say, O, there be diuers, that make profession to have as good, and as experimented receipts, as yours: Indeed, very many have assay'd, like Apes, in imitation of that, which is really, and essentially in me, to make of this oyle; bestow'd great cost in furnaces, stilles, alembekes, continuall fires, and preparation of the ingredients, as indeede there goes to it sixe hundred seuerall Simples, beside, some quantity of humane fat, for the conglutination, which we buy of the Anatomistes; But, when these Practitioners come to the last decoction, blow, blow, puff, puff, and all flies in fumo: ha, ha, ha. Poore wretches! I rather pitty their folly, and indiscretion, then their losse of time, and money; for those may be recouer'd by industry: but to be a Foole borne is a disease incurable. For my selfe, I alwaies from my youth have indeauor'd to get the rarest secrets, and booke them; eyther in exchange, or for money; I spared nor cost, nor labour, where anything was worthy to be learned. And Gentlemen, honourable Gentlemen, I will vndertake (by vertue of Chymicall Art) out of the honourable hat, that couers your head, to extract the foure Elements; that is to say, the Fire, Ayre, Water, and Earth, and returne you your felt, without burne, or staine. For, whilst others have beene at the balloo, I have beene at my booke: and am now past the craggy pathes of study, and come to the flowrie plaines of honour, and reputation.

 

 
Sir Politic:
I do assure you, Sir, that is his ayme.

 

 
Volpone:
But, to our price.

 

 
Peregrine:
And that withall, Sir Poll.

 

 
Volpone:
You all know (honourable Gentlemen) I neuer valew'd this ampulla, or violl, at lesse then eight Crownes, but for this time, I am content, to be depriu'd of it for sixe; sixe Crownes is the price; and lesse, in curtesie, I know you cannot offer me; take it, or leaue it, howsoeuer, both it, and I am at your seruice. I aske you not, as the valew of the thing, for then I should demand of you a thousand Crownes, so the Cardinalls Montalto, Fernese, the great Duke of Tuscany, my Gossip, with diuers other Princes have giuen me; but I despise money: only to shew my affection to you, honorable Gentlemen, and your illustrous State here, I have neglected the messages of these Princes, mine own offices, fram'd my iourney hither, onely to present you with the fruicts of my trauells. Tune your voyces once more, to the touch of your instruments, and give the honorable assembly some delightfull recreation.

 

 
Peregrine:
What monstrous, and most painefull circumstance
Is here, to get some three, or foure Gazets?
Some three-pence, in the whole, for that it will come to

 

 
Song
 
You that would last long, list to my song,
Make no more coyle, but buy of this oyle.
Would you be euer faire? and yong?
Stout of teeth? and strong of tongue?
Tart of palat? quick of eare?
Sharpe of sight? of nostrill cleare?
Moist of hand? and light of foot?
(Or I will come neerer to it)
Would you liue free from all diseases?
Do the act, your mistres pleases;
Yet fright all aches from your bones?
Here is a med'cine, for the nones.

 

Volpone:
 
Well, I am in a humor (at this time) to make a present of the small quantity my coffer containes: to the rich, in courtesie, and to the poore, for Gods sake. Wherefore, now marke; I ask'd you sixe Crownes, and sixe Crownes, at other times, you have payd me; you shall not give me sixe Crownes, nor fiue, nor foure, nor three, nor two, nor one; nor halfe a Duckat; no, nor a Muccinigo: six pence it will cost you, or sixe hundred pound -- expect no lower price, for by the banner of my front, I will not bate a bagatine, that I will have, onely, a pledge of your loves, to carry something from amongst you, to shew, I am not contemn'd by you. Therefore, now, tosse your handkerchiefes, chearefully, chearefully; and be aduertised, that the first heroique spirit, that deignes to grace me, with a handkerchiefe, I will give it a little remembrance of something, beside, shall please it better, then if I had presented it with a double Pistolet.

 

 
Peregrine:
Will you be that heroique Sparke, Sir Pol?

 

[CELIA, at a window above, throws down her handkerchief]
 
O see! the windore has preuented you.

 

 
Volpone:
Lady, I kisse your bounty; and, for this timely grace, you have done your poore Scoto of Mantua, I will returne you, ouer and aboue my oyle, a secret, of that high, and inestimable nature, shall make you for euer enamour'd on that minute, wherein your eye first descended on so meane, yet not altogether to be despis'd an obiect. Here is a Poulder, conceal'd in this paper, of which, if I should speake to the worth, nine thousand volumes were but as one page, that page as a line, that line as a word; so short is this Pilgrimage of man (which some call Life) to the expressing of it: would I reflect on the price? why, the whole World were but as an Empire, that Empire as a Prouince, that Prouince as a Banke, that Banke as a priuate Purse, to the purchase of it. I will, onely, tell you; it is the Poulder, that made Venus a Goddesse (giuen her by Apollo) that kept her perpetually yong, clear'd her wrincles, firm'd her gumnmes, fill'd her skinne, colour'd her hayre; From her, deriu'd to Helen, and at the sack of Troy (vnfortunately) lost: Till now, in this our age, it was as happily recouer'd, by a studious Antiquary, out of some ruines of Asia, who sent a moyetie of it, to the Court of France (but much sophistcated) wherewith the Ladyes there, now, colour their hayre. The rest (at this present) remaines with me; extracted, to a Quint essence: so that, where euer it but touches, in youth it perpetually preserues, in age restores the complexion; seats your teeth, did they dance like Virginall iacks, firme as a wall; makes them white, as Iuory, that were black, as --

 

 

 

 

 

Scene 2.3
[Enter CORVINO]

 

 
Corvino:
Bloud of the deuill, and my shame! [To VOLPONE] come downe, here;
Come downe: No house but mine to make your Scene?
Signior Flaminio, will you downe, Sir? downe?
What is my wife your Franciscina? Sir?
No windores on the whole Piazza, here,
To make your properties, but mine? but mine? [Beats away VOLPONE, NANO, &C.]
Hart! ere to morrow, I shall be new christen'd,
And cald the Pantalone di Besogniosi,
About the towne.

 

[Exit CORVINO; and the crowd disperses]

 

 
Peregrine:
What should this meane, Sir Poll?

 

 
Sir Politic:
Some trick of State, beleeue it. I will home.

 

 
Peregrine:
It may be some designe on you:

 

 
Sir Politic:
I know not.
I will stand upon my gard.

 

 
Peregrine:
It is your best, Sir.

 

 
Sir Politic:
This three weekes, all my aduises, all my letters
They have beene intercepted.

 

 
Peregrine:
Indeed, Sir?
Best have a care.

 

 
Sir Politic:
Nay so I will.

 

 
Peregrine:
This Knight,
I may not loose him, for my mirth, till night.
[Exeunt]

 

 

 

 

 

Scene 2.4 A room in VOLPONE’s house
[Enter VOLPONE and MOSCA]

 

 
Volpone:
O I am wounded.

 

 
Mosca:
Where, Sir?

 

 
Volpone:
Not without;
Those blowes were nothing: I could beare them euer.
But angry Cupid, boulting from her eyes,
Hath shot himselfe into me, like a flame;
Where, now, he flings about his burning heat,
As in a furnace, some ambitious fire,
Whose vent is stopt. The fight is all within me.
I cannot liue, except thou helpe me, Mosca;
My liuer melts, and I, without the hope
Of some soft ayre, from her refreshing breath,
Am but a heape of cinders.

 

 
Mosca:
'Lasse, good Sir,
Would you had neuer seene her.

 

 
Volpone:
Nay, would thou
Hadst neuer told me of her.

 

 
Mosca:
Sir it is true;
I do confesse, I was vnfortunate,
And you vnhappy: but I am bound in conscience.
No lesse then duety, to effect my best
To your release of torment, and I will, Sir.

 

 
Volpone:
Deare Mosca, shall I hope?

 

 
Mosca:
Sir, more then deare,
I will not bidd you to dispaire of ought,
Within a humane compasse.

 

 
Volpone:
O, there spoke
My better Angell. Mosca, take my keyes,
Gold, plate, and iewells, all is at thy deuotion;
Employ them, how thou wilt; nay, coyne me, too:
So thou, in this, but crowne my longings. Mosca?

 

 
Mosca:
Vse but your patience.

 

 
Volpone:
So I have.

 

 
Mosca:
I doubt not
But bring successe to your desires.

 

 
Volpone:
Nay, then,
I not repent me of my late disguise.

 

 
Mosca:
If you can horne him, Sir, you neede not.

 

 
Volpone:
True:
Besides, I neuer meant him for my heyre.
Is not the colour of my beards. and eye-browes,
To make me knowne?

 

 
Mosca:
No iot.

 

 
Volpone:
I did it well.

 

 
Mosca:
So well, would I could follow you in mine,
With halfe the happinesse; and, yet, I would
Escape your Epilogue.

 

 
Volpone:
But, were they gull'd
With a beleefe, that I was Scoto?

 

 
Mosca:
Sir,
Scoto himselfe could hardly have distinguish'd;
I have not time to flatter you, we will part:
And, as I prosper, so applaud my art.
[Exeunt]

 

 

 

 

 

Scene 2.5 A room in CORVINO’s house
[Enter CORVINO, sword in his hand, dragging in CELIA]

 

 
Corvino:
Death of mine honour, with the citties Foole?
A iugling, tooth-drawing, prating Montebanke?
And, at a publique windore? where whilst he,
With his strain'd action, and his dole of faces,
To his drug-Lecture drawes your itching eares,
A crewe of old, vn-mari'd, noted lechers,
Stood leering up, like Satyres; and you smile,
Most graciously? and fanne you fauours forth,
To give your hote Spectators satisfaction?
What; was your Montebanke their call? their whistle?
Or were you 'enamour'd on his copper rings?
His saffron iewell, with the toade-stone in it?
Or his imbroydred sute, with the cope-stitch,
Made of a herse-cloath? or his old tilt-feather?
Or his starch'd beard? well; you shall have him, yes.
He shall come home, and minister unto you
The fricace, for the Mother. Or, let me see,
I think, you had rather mount? would you not mount?
Why, if you will mount, you may; yes truely, you may:
And so, you may be seene, downe to the foote.
Get you a citterne, Lady Vanity,
And be a Dealer, with the Vertuous Man;
Make on: I will but protest myselfe a cuckold,
And saue your dowry. I am a Dutchman, I;
For, if you thought me an Italian,
You would be damn'd, ere you did this, you Whore:
Thou wouldst tremble, to imagine, that the murder
Of father, mother, brother, all thy race,
Should follow, as the subiect of my iustice.

 

 
Celia:
Good Sir, have pacience.

 

 
Corvino:
What couldst thou propose
Lesse to thy selfe, then, in this heate of wrath,
And stung with my dishonour, I should strike
This steele unto thee, with as many stabs,
As thou wert gaz'd upon with goatish eyes?

 

 
Celia:
Alas Sir, be appeas'd; I could not think
My beeing at the windore should more, now,
Moue your impatience, then at other times:

 

 
Corvino:
No? not to seeke, and entertaine a parlee;
With a knowne knaue? before a multitude?
You were an Actor, with your handkercheife;
Which he, most sweetly, kist in the receipt,
And might (no doubt) returne it, with a letter,
And point the place, where you might meete: your sisters,
Your mothers, or your aunts might serue the turne.

 

 
Celia:
Why, deare Sir, when do I make these excuses?
Or euer stirre, abroad, but to the Church?
And that, so seldome --

 

 
Corvino:
Well, it shall be lesse;
And thy restraint, before, was liberty,
To what I now decree: And therefore, marke me.
First, I will have this baudy light damn'd up;
And, till it be done, some two, or three yards of,
I will chalke a line: ore which, if thou but (chance
To) set thy desp'rate foote; more hell, more horror,
More wilde, remorcelesse rage shall seize on thee,
Then on a Coniurer, that had heed-lesse left,
His Circles saftie, ere his Deuill was layd.
Then, here is a lock, which I will hang upon thee;
And, now I think of it, I will keepe thee back-wards;
Thy lodging shall be back-wards; thy walkes back-wards;
Thy prospect-all be back-wards; and no pleasure,
That thou shalt know, but back-wards: Nay, since you force
My honest nature, know, it is your own
Being too open, makes me vse you thus.
Since you will not containe your subtill nostrills
In a sweete roome, but, they must snuffe the ayre
Of ranke, and sweaty passengers – [Knocking within] One knocks.
Away, and be not seene, paine of thy life;
Not looke toward the windore: if thou dost --
(Nay stay, heare this) let me not prosper, Whore,
But I will make thee an Anatomy,
Dissect thee mine own selfe, and read a lecture
Upon thee, to the citty, and in publique.
Away. [Exit CELIA] Who is there? [Enter SERVANT]

 

 
Servant:
It is Signior Mosca, Sir.

 

 

 

 

 

Scene 2.6

 

 
Corvino:
Let him come in. [Exit SERVANT] His master is dead: There is yet
Some good, to helpe the bad. My Mosca, welcome;
I gesse your newes.

 

 
Mosca:
I feare, you cannot, Sir.

 

 
Corvino:
Is it not his death?

 

 
Mosca:
Rather, the contrary.

 

 
Corvino:
Not his recouery?

 

 
Mosca:
Yes, Sir,

 

 
Corvino:
I am curst,
I am bewitch'd, my crosses meete to vexe me.
How? how? how? how?

 

 
Mosca:
Why, Sir, with Scoto's oyle;
Corbaccio, and Voltore brought of it,
Whilst I was busy in an inner roome --

 

 
Corvino:
Death! that damn'd Mountebanke; but, for the Law,
Now, I could kill the raskall: it cannot be,
His oyle should have that vertue. Have not I
Knowne him a common rogue, come fidling in
To the Osteria, with a tumbling whore,
And, when he has done all his forc'd tricks, beene glad
Of a poore spoonefull of ded wine, with flies in it?
It cannot be. All his ingredients
Are a sheepes gall, a rosted bitches marrow,
Some fewe sod earewigs pounded caterpillers,
A little capons grease, and fasting spitle:
I know hem, to a dram.

 

 
Mosca:
I know not, Sir,
But some of it, there they pour'd into his eares,
Some in his nostrills, and recouer'd him;
Applying but the fricace.

 

 
Corvino:
Pox on that fricace.

 

 
Mosca:
And since to seeme the more officious,
And flatt'ring of his health, there, they have had
(At extreme fees) the Colledge of Physitians
Consulting on him how they might restore him;
Where, one would have a cataplasme of spices,
Another a flead Ape clapt to his brest,
A third would have it a Dog, a fourth an oyle
With wilde Cates skinnes: At last, they all resolu'd
That, to preserue him, was no other meanes,
But some yong woman must be streight sought out,
Lusty, and ful if iuice, to sleepe by him;
And, to this seruice (most vnhappily,
And most vnwillingly) am I now imploy'd,
Which, here, I thought to pre-acquaint you with,
For your aduise, since it concernes you most,
Because, I would not do that thing might crosse
Your ends, on whome I have my whole dependance, Sir:
Yet if I do it not, they may delate
My slacknesse to my Patron, worke me out
Of his opinion; and there, all your hopes,
Venters, or whatsoeuer, are all frustrate.
I do but tell you, Sir. Besides, they are all
Now striuing, who shall first present him. Therefore --
I could intreate you, breefly, conclude some-what:
Preuent them if you can.

 

 
Corvino:
Death to my hopes!
This is my villanous fortune! best to hire
Some common Curtezan?

 

 
Mosca:
Aye, I thought on that, Sir.
But they are all so subtle, full of art,
And age againe, doting, and flexible,
So as -- I cannot tell -- we may perchance
Light on a queane, may cheate us all.

 

 
Corvino:
It is true.

 

 
Mosca:
No, no: it must be one, that has no tricks, Sir,
Some simple thing, a creature, made unto it;
Some wench you may command. Have you no kinswoman?
Gods son -- Think, think, think, think, think, think, think, Sir.
One of the Doctors offer'd, there, his daughter.

 

 
Corvino:
How!

 

 
Mosca:
Yes, Signior Lupo, the Physitian,

 

 
Corvino:
His daughter?

 

 
Mosca:
And a virgin, Sir. Why? Alasse
He knowes the state of his body, what it is;
That naught can warme his bloud Sir, but a feuer;
Nor any incantation raise his spirit:
A long forgetfullnesse hath seiz'd that part.
Besides, Sir, who shall know it? some one, or two.

 

 
Corvino:
I pray thee give me leaue. [Walks aside] If any man
But I had had this luck -- The thing in it selfe,
I know, is nothing -- Wherefore should not I
As well command my bloud, and my affections,
As this dull Doctor? In the point of honor,
The cases are all one, of wife, and daughter.

 

 
Mosca:
[aside] I heare him comming.

 

 
Corvino:
She shall do it: it is done.
Slight, if this Doctor that is not engag'd,
Vnlesse it be for his councell (which is nothing)
Offer his daughter, what should I, that am
So deepely in? I will preuent him, wretch!
Couetous wretch! Mosca, I have determin'd.

 

 
Mosca:
How Sir?

 

 
Corvino:
We will make all sure. The party, you wot of,
Shall be mine own wife, Mosca.

 

 
Mosca:
Sir. The thing,
(But that I would not seeme to councell you)
I should have motion'd to you at the first:
And, make your count, you have cut all their throtes.
Why! it is directly taking a possession!
And, in his next fit, we may let him go.
It is but to pul the pillow, from his head,
And he is thratled: it had beene done, before,
But for your scrupulous doubts.

 

 
Corvino:
Aye, a plague on it,
My conscience fooles my wit. Well, I will be briefe,
And so be thou, least they should be before us:
Go home, prepare him, tell him, with what zeale,
And willingnesse, I do it: sweare it was,
On the first hearing, (as thou mayst do, truely)
Mine own free motion.

 

 
Mosca:
Sir, I warrant you,
I will so possesse him with it, that the rest
Of his steru'd clients shall be banisht, all;
And onely you receiu'd. But come not, Sir,
Vntill I send, for I have something, else
To ripen, for your good (you must not know it)

 

 
Corvino:
But do not you forget to send, now.

 

 
Mosca:
Feare not.  [Exit MOSCA.]

 

 

 

 

 

Scene 2.7

 

 
Corvino:
Where are you, wife? my Celia? Wife!
[Enter CELIA, weeping]
what, blubbering?
Come, drye those teares. I think, thou thought'st me in earnest?
Ha? by this light, I talk'd so but to trie thee.
Me thinkes, the lightnesse of the occasion
Should have confirm'd thee. Come, I am not iealous:

 

 
Celia:
No?

 

 
Corvino:
Faith, I am not I, nor neuer was:
It is a poore, vnprofitable humor.
Do not I know, if women have a will,
They will do against all the watches, of the world?
And that the feircest spies, are tam'd with gold?
Tut, I am confident in thee thou shalt see it:
And see, I will give thee cause too, to beleeue it.
Come, kisse me. Go, and make thee ready straight,
In all thy best attire, thy choicest iewells,
Put them all on, and, with them, thy best lookes:
We are inuited to a solemne feast,
At old Volpone's, where it shall appeare
How far I am free, from iealousie, or feare.

 

[Exeunt]

 

 

 

 

 

Act 3
Scene 3.1 A street.
[Enter MOSCA]

 

 
Mosca:
I Feare, I shall begin to grow in love
With my deare selfe, and my most prosp'rous parts,
They do so spring, and burgeon; I can feele
A whimsey in my bloud: (I know not how)
Successe hath made me wanton. I could skip
Out of my skinne, now, like a subtill snake,
I am so limber. O! Your Parasite
Is a most pretious thing, dropt from aboue,
Not bred amongst clods, and clot-poules, here on earth.
I muse, the Mysterie was not made a Science,
It is so liberally profest! Almost,
All the wise world is little else, in nature,
But Parasites, or Sub-parasites. And, yet,
I meane not those, that have your bare Towne-art,
To know, who is fit to feede them; have no house,
No family, no care, and therefore mould
Tales for mens eares, to baite that sense; or get
Kitchin-inuention, and some stale receipts
To please the belly, and the groine; nor those,
With their Court-dog-trickes, that can fawne, and fleere,
Make their revenue out of legges, and faces,
Eccho my-Lord, and lick away a moath:
But you fine, elegant rascall, that can rise,
And stoope (almost together) like an arrow;
Shoote through the aire, as nimbly as a starre;
Turne 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, then a thought.
This is the creature, had the art borne with him;
Toyles not to learne it, but doth practise it
Out of most excellent nature: And such sparkes,
Are the true Parasites, others but their Zani's.

 

 

 

 

 

Scene 3.2
[Enter BONARIO]

 

 
Mosca:
[aside] Who is this? Bonario? old Corbaccio's son?
The person I was bound to seeke. Fayre Sir,
You are happ'ly met.

 

 
Bonario:
That cannot be by thee.

 

 
Mosca:
Why Sir?

 

 
Bonario:
Nay 'pray thee know thy way, and leaue me;
I would be loath to inter-change discourse,
With such a mate, as thou art

 

 
Mosca:
Curteous Sir.
Scorne not my pouerty.

 

 
Bonario:
Not I, by heauen,
But thou shalt give me leaue to hate thy basenesse.

 

 
Mosca:
Basenesse?

 

 
Bonario:
Aye Answer me, Is not thy sloth
Sufficient argument? thy flattery?
Thy meanes of feeding?

 

 
Mosca:
Heauen, be good to me.
These imputations are too common, Sir,
And eas'ly stuck on vertue, when she is poore;
You are vnequall to me, and how ere
Your sentence may be righteous yet you are not,
That ere you know me, thus, proceed in censure:
S t Marke beare witnesse against you, it is inhumane. [Weeps]

 

 
Bonario:
[aside] What? does he weepe? the signe is soft, and good;
I do repent me, that I was so harsh.

 

 
Mosca:
It is true, that sway'd, by strong necessity,
I am enforc'd to eate my carefull bread
With too much obsequy; it is true, beside,
That I am faine to spin mine own poore rayment,
Out of my mere obseruance, being not borne,
To a free fortune: but that I have done
Base offices, in rending friends asunder,
Diuiding families, betraying councells,
Whispering false lies, or mining men with prayses,
Train'd their credulitie with periuries,
Corrupted chastity, or am in love
With mine own tender ease, but would not rather
Proue the most rugged, and laborious course,
That might redeeme, my present estimation;
Let me here perish, in all hope of goodnesse.

 

 
Bonario:
[aside] This cannot be a personated passion.
I was to blame, so to mistake thy nature;
'Pray thee forgiue me: and speake out thy bus'nesse.

 

 
Mosca:
Sir, it concernes you; and though I may seeme,
At first, to make a maine offence, in manners,
And in my gratitude, unto my maister,
Yet, for the pure love, which I beare all right,
And hatred of the wrong, I must reueale it.
This very houre, your father is in purpose
To disinherit you --

 

 
Bonario:
How?

 

 
Mosca:
And thrust you forth,
As a mere stranger to his bloud; it is true, Sir:
The worke no way ingageth me, but, as
I claime an interest in the generall state
Of goodnesse, and true vertue, which I heare
To abound in you: and, for which mere respect,
Without a second ayme, Sir, I have done it.

 

 
Bonario:
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 vnnaturall.

 

 
Mosca:
It is a confidence, that well becomes
Your piety; and form'd (no doubt) it is,
From your own simple innocence: which makes
Your wrong more monstrous, and abhor'd. But, Sir,
I now, will tell you more. This very minute,
It is, or will be doing: And, if you
Shall be but pleas'd to goe with me, I will bring you,
(I dare not say where you shall see, but) where
Your eare shall be a witnesse of the deed;
Heare your selfe written Bastard; and profest
The common issue of the earth.

 

 
Bonario:
I am maz'd.

 

 
Mosca:
Sir, if I do it not, draw your iust sword,
And score your vengeance, on my front, and face;
Marke me your villayne: You have too much wrong,
And I do suffer for you, Sir. My heart
Weepes bloud, in anguish --

 

 
Bonario:
Lead. I follow thee.

 

[Exeunt]
 
 
 
 

 

Scene 3.3 A room in VOLPONE’s house.
[Enter VOLPONE]

 

 
Volpone:
Mosca stayes long, me thines. Bring forth your sports
And helpe, to make the wretched time more sweete.

 

[Enter NANO, ANDROGYNO, and CASTRONE]

 

 
Nano:
Dwarfe, Foole, and Eunuch, well mett here we be.
A question it were now, whether of us three,
Being, all, the knowne delicates, of a rich man,
In pleasing him, claime the precedency can?

 

 
Castrone:
I claime for my selfe.

 

Androgyno:
 And, so doth the Foole.

 

Nano:
It is foolish indeed: let me set you both to schoole.
First, for your Dwarfe, he is little, and witty,
And euery thing, as it is little, is pritty;
Else, why do men say to a creature (of my shape)
So soone as they see him, it is a pritty little Ape?
And, why a pritty Ape? but for pleasing imitation
Of greater mens action, in a ridiculous fashion.
Beside, this feat body of mine doth not craue
Halfe the meat, drinke, and cloth, one of your bulkes will have.
Admit, your Fooles face be the Mother of Laughter,
Yet, for his braine, it must alwaies come after:
And, though that do feede him, it is a pittifull case,
His body is beholding to such a bad face.

 

 
Volpone:
Who is there? my couch, Away, looke Nano, see:
[Exeunt ANDROGYNO and CASTRONE]
Give me my cappes, first -- go, enquire. [Exit NANO.] Now, Cupid
Send it be Mosca, and with faire returne.

 

 
Nano:
[within]
It is the beauteous Madam --

 

 
Volpone:
Would-bee? is it?

 

 
Nano:
The same.

 

 
Volpone:
Now, torment on me; squire her in:
For she will enter, or dwell here for euer.
Nay, quickly, [Retires to his couch] that my fit were past. I feare
A second hell too, that my loathing this
Will quite expell my appetite to the other:
Would she were taking, now, her tedious leaue.
Lord, how it threates me, what I am to suffer!

 

 

 

 

 

Scene 3.4
[Enter NANO with LADY POLITIC WOULD-BE.]

 

 
Lady Politic:
I thanke you, good Sir. 'Pray you signifie
Unto your Patron, I am here. This band
Shewes not my neck inough (I trouble you, Sir,
Let me request you, bid one of my women
Come hether to me) In good faith, I, am drest
Most fauorably, to day, it is no matter,
It is well inough. [Enter 1st Waiting-Woman]
Looke, see, these petulant things,
How they have done this!

 

 
Volpone:
[aside]
I do feele the Feuer
Entring, in at mine eares; O, for a charme
To fright it hence.

 

 
Lady Politic:
Come nearer: Is this curle
In his right place? or this? why is this highter
Then all the rest? you have not wash'd your eies, yet?
Or do they not stand euen in your head?
Where is your fellow? call her. [Exit 1st Waiting-Woman]

 

 

 

Nano:
[aside]
Now, St Marke
Deliuer us: anone, she will beate her women,
Because her nose is red.

 

[Re-enter 1st with 2nd WOMAN]

 

 
Lady Politic:
I pray you, view
This tire, forsooth; are all things apt, or no

 

 
2 Woman:
One haire a little, here, sticks out, forsooth.

 

 
Lady Politic:
Does it so forsooth? and where was your deare sight
When it did so, forsooth? what now? bird-eyd?
And you too? 'pray you both approach, and mend it.
Now (by that light) I muse, you are not asham'd,
I, that have preach'd these things, so oft, unto you,
Read you the principles, argu'd all the grounds,
Disputed euery grace, euery fitnesse,
Call'd you to councell of so frequent dressings --

 

 
Nano:
[aside]
(More carefully, then of your fame, or honor)

 

 
Lady Politic:
Made you acquainted, what an ample dowry
The knowledge of these things would be unto you,
Able, alone, to get you Noble husbands
At your returne: And you, thus, to neglect it?
Besides, you seeing what a curious Nation
The Italians are, what will they say of me?
The English lady cannot dresse her selfe;
Here is a fine imputation, to our Country:
Well, goe your waies, and stay, in the next roome.
This fucus was too course too, it is no matter.
Good-Sir, you will give them entertaynement?

 

[Exeunt NANO and WAITING-WOMEN.]

 

 
Volpone:
The storme comes toward me.

 

 
Lady Politic:
[goes to the couch]
How does my Volp?

 

 
Volpone:
Troubled with noyse, I cannot sleepe; I dreamt'
That a strange Fury entred, now, my house,
And, with the dreadfull tempest of her breath,
Did cleaue my roofe asunder.

 

 
Lady Politic:
Beleeue me, and I
Had the most fearefull dreame, could I remember it --

 

 
Volpone:
[aside] Out on my fate; I have giu'n her the occasion
How to torment me: she will tell me hers.

 

 
Lady Politic:
Me thought, the golden Mediocrity
Polite, and delicate --

 

 
Volpone:
O, if you do love me,
No more; I sweate, and suffer, at the mention
Of any dreame: feele, how I tremble yet.

 

 
Lady Politic:
Alasse, good soule! the Passion of the heart.
Seed-pearle were good now, boild with sirrope of Apples,
Tincture of Gold, and Currall, Citron-pills,
Your Elicampane roote, Mirobalanes --

 

 
Volpone:
[aside] Ay me, I have ta'ne a grasse-hopper by the wing.

 

 
Lady Politic:
Burnt silke, and Amber, you have Muscadell
Good in the house --

 

 
Volpone:
You will not drinke, and part?

 

 
Lady Politic:
No, feare not that. I doubt, we shall not get
Some English saffron (halfe a dram would serue)
Your sixteene Cloves, a little Muske, dri'd Mintes,
Buglosse, and barley-meale --

 

 
Volpone:
[aside] She is in againe,
Before I fayn'd diseases, now I have one.

 

 
Lady Politic:
And these appli'd, with a right scarlet-cloth --

 

 
Volpone:
[aside] Another floud of words! a very torrent!

 

 
Lady Politic:
Shall I, Sir, make you a Poultise?

 

 
Volpone:
No, no, no;
I am very well: you neede prescribe no more.

 

 
Lady Politic:
I have, a little, studied Physick; but, now,
I am all for Musique: saue, in the forenoones,
An houre, or two, for Paynting. I would have
A Lady, indeed, to have all, Letters, and Artes,
Be able to discourse, to write, to paynt,
But principall (as Plato holds) your Musique
(And, so does wise Pithagoras, I take it)
Is your true rapture; when there is concent
In face, in voice, and clothes: and is, indeed,
Our sexes chiefest ornament.

 

 
Volpone:
The Poet;
As old in time, as Plato, and as knowing,
Says that your highest female grace is Silence.

 

 
Lady Politic:
Which of your Poets? Petrarch? or Tasso? or Dante?
Guerrini? Ariosto? Aretino?
Cieco di Hadria? I have read them all.

 

 
Volpone:
[aside] Is euery thing a cause, to my distruction?

 

 
Lady Politic:
I think, I have two or three of them, about me.

 

 
Volpone:
[aside] The sunne, the sea will sooner, both, stand still,
Then her æternall tongue; nothing can scape it.

 

 
Lady Politic:
Here is Pastor Fido --

 

 
Volpone:
[aside] Professe obstinate silence,
That is, now, my safest.

 

 
Lady Politic:
All our English Writers,
I meane such, as are happy in the Italian,
Will deigne to steal out of this Author, mainely;
Almost as much, as from Montagnie;
He has so moderne, and facile a veine,
Fitting the time, and catching the Court-eare.
Your Petrarch is more passionate, yet he,
In dayes of Sonetting, trusted them, with much:
Dante is hard, and fewe can vnderstand him.
But, for a desperate wit, there is Aretine;
Onely, his pictures are a little obscene --
You marke me not?

 

 
Volpone:
Alasse, my mind is perturb'd.

 

 
Lady Politic:
Why in such cases we must cure our selues,
Make vse of our Philosophie --

 

 
Volpone:
O 'ay me.

 

 
Lady Politic:
And, as we find our passions do rebell,
Encounter them with reason; or diuert them,
By giuing scope unto some other humour
Of lesser danger: As, in politique bodyes,
There is nothing, more doth ouerwhelme the iudgment,
And clouds the vnderstanding, then too much
Setling, and fixing, and (as it were) subsiding
Upon one obiect. For the incorporating
Of these same outward things, into that part,
Which we call mentall, leaues some certaine fæces,
That stop the organs, and as Plato sayes,
Assassinates our Knowledge.

 

 
Volpone:
[aside] Now, the spirit
Of patience helpe me.

 

 
Lady Politic:
Come, in faith, I must
Visit you more, a dayes; and make you well:
Laugh, and be lusty.

 

 
Volpone:
[aside] My good Angell saue me.

 

 
Lady Politic:
There was but one sole man, in all the world,
With whom I ere could sympathize; and he
Would lie you often three, foure houres together,
To heare me speake: and be (sometime) so rap't,
As he would answer me, quite from the purpose,
Like you, and you are like him, iust. I will discourse
(And it be but only, Sir, to bring you a sleepe)
How we did spend our time, and loves, together,
For some sixe yeares.

 

 
Volpone:
O, o, o, o, o, o.

 

 
Lady Politic:
For we were Coætanei, and brought up --

 

 
Volpone:
Some power, some fate, some fortune rescue me.

 

 

 

 

 

Scene 3.5
[Enter MOSCA]

 

 
Mosca:
God saue you, Madam.

 

 
Lady Politic:
Good Sir.

 

 
Volpone:
Mosca? welcome,
Welcome to my redemption.

 

 
Mosca:
Why, Sir?

 

 
Volpone:
[aside to MOSCA]  O,
Rid me of this my torture, quickly, there;
My Madam, with the euerlasting voyce:
The Bells, in time of pestilence, ne're made
Like noyse, or were in that perpetuall motion;
The Cock-pit comes not neare it. All my house,
But now, steam'd like a bath, with her thicke breath.
A Lawyer could not have beene heard; nor scarse
Another Woman such a hayle of words
She has let fall. For hells sake, ridd her hence.

 

 
Mosca:
Has she presented?

 

 
Volpone:
O, I do not care,
I will take her absence, upon any price,
With any losse.

 

 
Mosca:
Madam.

 

 
Lady Politic:
I have brought your Patron
A toy, a cap here, of mine own worke --

 

 
Mosca:
It is well,
I had forgot to tell you, I saw your Knight,
Where you would little think it --

 

 
Lady Politic:
Where?

 

 
Mosca:
Many,
Where yet, if you make hast you may apprehend him,
Rowing upon the water in a gondole,
With the most cunning Curtizan, of Venice.

 

 
Lady Politic:
Is it true?

 

 
Mosca:
Pursue them, and beleeue your eyes;
Leaue me, to make your gift. [Exit LADY POLITIC hastily] I knew, it would take:
For lightly, they, that vse themselues most licence,
Are still most iealous.

 

 
Volpone:
Mosca, hearty thanks,
For thy quick fiction, and deliuery of me.
Now, to my hopes, what saist thou?

 

[Re-enter LADY POLITIC]

 

 
Lady Politic:
But do you heare, Sir?

 

 
Volpone:
Againe; I feare a paroxisme.

 

 
Lady Politic:
Which way
Row'd they together?

 

 
Mosca:
Toward the Rialto.

 

 
Lady Politic:
I pray you, lend me your Dwarfe.

 

 
Mosca:
I pray you, take him --                                                     [Exit LADY POLITIC.]
Your hopes, Sir, are like happy blossomes, fayre,
And promise timely fruict, if you will stay
But the maturing; keepe you, at your couch,
Corbaccio will arriue straight, with the Will:
When he is gone, I will tell you more.
[Exit.]

 

 
Volpone:
My bloud,
My spirits are return'd; I am aliue:
And like your wanton gam'ster, at Primero,
Whose thought had whisper'd to him not go lesse,
Me thinkes I lie, and drawe -- for an encounter.

 

[The bed-curtains close upon VOLPONE]

 

 

 

 
Scene 3.6 The Passage Leading to VOLPONE’s Chamber.
[Enter MOSCA and BONARIO]

 

 
Mosca:
Sir, here conceald, [Shows him a closet.] you may here all. But 'pray you
Have patience, Sir; [Knocking within] the same is your father, knocks:
I am compeld, to leaue you.
[Exit]

 

 
Bonario:
Do so. Yet,
Cannot my thought imagine this a truth.
[Goes into the closet]
 
 
 
 

 

Scene 3.7 Another part of the same.
[Enter MOSCA and CORVINO, CELIA following.]

 

 
Mosca:
Death on me! you are come too soone, what meant you?
Did not I say, I would send?

 

 
Corvino:
Yes, but I feard
You might forget it, and then they preuent us.

 

 
Mosca:
Preuent? did ere man hast so, for his hornes?
A Courtier would not ply it so, for a place.
Well, now there is no helping it, stay here;
I will presently returne.
[Crosses stage to BONARIO.]

 

 
Corvino:
Where are you, Celia?
You know not, wherefore I have brought you hether?

 

 
Celia:
Not well, except you told me.

 

 
Corvino:
Now, I will:
Hearke hether. [He leads her apart, and whispers to her.]

 

 
Mosca:
[to BONARIO]
Sir, your father hath sent word,
It will be halfe an houre, ere he come;
And therefore, if you please to walke, the while,
Into that gallery -- at the vpper end,
There are some bookes, to entertaine the time:
And I will take care, no man shall come unto you, Sir.

 

 
Bonario:
Yes, I will stay there; [aside] I do doubt this fellow.
[Exit BONARIO]

 

Mosca:
[looking a