Volpone - Act 3
SCENE 1.
MOSCA I fear I shall begin to grow in love
With my dear self and my most prosperous parts,
They do so spring and burgeon; I can feel
A whimsy in my blood: I know not how,
Success hath made me wanton. I could skip
Out of my skin, now, like a subtle snake,
I am so limber. O! your parasite
Is a most precious thing, dropped from above,
Not bred 'mongst clods and clodpoles here on earth
I muse the mystery was not made a science,
It is so liberally professed! Almost
All the wise world is little else, in nature,
But parasites or sub parasites. And yet
I mean not those that have your bare town-art,
To know who's fit to feed them; have no house,
No family, no care, and therefore mold
Tales for men's ears, to bait that sense; or get
Kitchen-invention, and some stale receipts
To please the belly, and the groin; nor those,
With their court dog-tricks, that can fawn and fleer,
Make their revenue out of legs and faces,
Echo my lord, and lick away a moth:
But your fine elegant rascal, that can rise
And stoop almost together, like an arrow;
Shoot through the air as nimbly as a star;
Turn short as doth a swallow; and be here,
And there, and here, and yonder, all at once;
Present to any humor, all occasion;
And change a visor swifter than a thought!
This is the creature had the art born with him;
Toils not to learn it, but doth practice it
Out of most excellent nature; and such sparks
Are the true parasites, others but their zanies.
SCENE 2
MOSCA Who's this? Bonario, old Corbaccio's son?
The person I was bound to seek — Fair sir,
You are happily met
BONARIO That cannot be by thee.
MOSCA Why, sir?
BONARIO Nay, pray thee know thy way, and leave me:
I would be loath to interchange discourse
With such a mate as thou art
MOSCA Courteous sir,
Scorn not my poverty
BONARIO Not I, by heaven;
But thou shalt give me leave to hate thy baseness
MOSCA Baseness!
BONARIO Ay; answer me, is not thy sloth
Sufficient argument? thy flattery?
Thy means of feeding?
MOSCA Heaven be good to me!
These imputations are too common, sir,
And easily stuck on virtue when she's poor
You are unequal to me and howe'er
Your sentence may be righteous, yet you are not,
That, ere you know me, thus proceed in censure:
St. Mark bear witness 'gainst you, 'tis inhuman.
BONARIO What! does he weep? The sign is soft and good;
I do repent me that I was so harsh
MOSCA 'Tis true that, swayed by strong necessity,
I am enforced to eat my careful bread
With too much obsequy; 'tis true, beside,
That I am fain to spin mine own poor raiment
Out of my mere observance, being not born
To a free fortune: but that I have done
Base offices, in rending friends asunder,
Dividing families, betraying counsels,
Whispering false lies, or mining men with praises,
Trained their credulity with perjuries,
Corrupted chastity, or am in love
With mine own tender ease, but would not rather
Prove the most rugged and laborious course
That might redeem my present estimation,
Let me here perish in all hope of goodness,
BONARIO This cannot be a personated passion —
MOSCA Sir, it concerns you; and though I may seem
At first to make a main offense in manners,
And in my gratitude unto my master,
Yet for the pure love which I bear all right,
And hatred of the wrong, I must reveal it
This very hour your father is in purpose
To disinherit you —
BONARIO How!
MOSCA And thrust you forth
As a mere stranger to his blood; 'tis true, sir
The work no way engageth me, but as
I claim an interest in the general state
Of goodness and true virtue, which I hear
T' abound in you; and for which mere respect,
Without a second aim, sir, I have done it
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 unnatural
MOSCA It is a confidence that well becomes
Your piety; and formed, no doubt, it is
From your own simple innocence; which makes
Your wrong more monstrous and abhorred. But, sir,
I now will tell you more. This very minute,
It is or will be doing; and, if you
Shall be but pleased to go with me, I'll bring you,
I dare not say where you shall see, but where
Your ear shall be a witness of the deed;
Hear yourself written bastard and professed
The common issue of the earth
BONARIO I'm mazed.
MOSCA Sir, if I do it not, draw your just sword,
And score your vengeance on my front and face;
Mark me your villain: you have too much wrong,
And I do suffer for you, sir My heart
Weeps blood in anguish —
BONARIO Lead; I follow thee
SCENE 3 A room in VOLPONE 's house
VOLPONE Mosca stays long, methinks Bring forth your sports,
And help to make the wretched time more sweet.
NANO Dwarf, fool, and eunuch, well met here we be .
A question it were now, whether of us three,
Being, all, the known delicates of a rich man,
In pleasing him, claim the precedency can?
NANO 'Tis foolish indeed: let me set you both to school .
First for your dwarf, he's little and witty,
And everything, as it is little, is pretty;
Else why do men say to a creature of my shape,
So soon as they see him, " It's a pretty little ape? "
And why a pretty ape, but for pleasing imitation
Of greater men's action, in a ridiculous fashion?
Beside, this feat body of mine doth not crave
Half the meat, drink, and cloth one of your bulks will have
Admit your fool's face be the mother of laughter,
Yet, for his brain, it must always come after;
And though that do feed him, it's a pitiful case
His body is beholding to such a bad face.
VOLPONE Who's there? my couch; away! Look, Nano, see —
Give me my caps, first — go, enquire Now, Cupid
Sent it be Mosca, and with fair return!
NANO It is the beauteous madam —
VOLPONE Would be — is it?
NANO The same
VOLPONE Now torment on me! Squire her in;
For she will enter, or dwell here forever:
Nay, quickly. — That my fit were past! I fear
A second hell too, that my loathing this
Will quite expel my appetite to the other:
Would she were taking now her tedious leave
Lord, how it threats me what I am to suffer!
SCENE 4
LADY POLITIC I thank you, good sir. Pray you signify
Unto your patron I am here. — This band
Shows not my neck enough — I trouble you, sir.
Let me request you, bid one of my women
Come hither to me. In good faith, I am dressed
Most favorably today. It is no matter;
'Tis well enough.
Look, see, these petulant things,
How they have done this!
VOLPONE I do feel the fever
Entering in at mine ears; O, for a charm
To fright it hence!
LADY POLITIC Come nearer: is this curl
In his right place? or this? Why is this higher
Than all the rest? You have not washed your eyes yet?
Or do they not stand even in your head?
Where is your fellow? call her.
NANO Now, St Mark
Deliver us! Anon she'll beat her women,
Because her nose is red
LADY POLITIC I pray you, view
This tire, forsooth: are all things apt, or no?
2 WOMAN One hair a little, here, sticks out, forsooth
LADY POLITIC Does 't so, forsooth! And where was your dear sight
When it did so, forsooth! What now! bird-eyed?
And you, too? Pray you both approach and mend it
Now, by that light, I muse you're not ashamed!
I, that have preached these things so oft unto you,
Read you the principles, argued all the grounds,
Disputed every fitness, every grace,
Called you to counsel of so frequent dressings —
NANO More carefully than 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 return; 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 dress herself. —
Here's a fine imputation to our country!
Well, go your ways, and stay in the next room.
This fucus was too coarse too; it's no matter
Good sir, you'll give them entertainment?
VOLPONE The storm comes toward me
LADY POLITIC How does my Volpone?
VOLPONE Troubled with noise; I cannot sleep; I dreamt
That a strange fury entered now my house
And with the dreadful tempest of her breath
Did cleave my roof asunder
LADY POLITIC Believe me, and I
Had the most fearful dream, could I remember 't —
VOLPONE Out on my fate! I have given her the occasion
How to torment me: she will tell me hers.
LADY POLITIC Methought, the golden mediocrity,
Polite, and delicate —
VOLPONE O, if you do love me,
No more; I sweat and suffer at the mention
Of any dream: feel how I tremble yet
LADY POLITIC Alas, good soul! the passion of the heart
Seed-pearl were good now, boiled with syrup of apples,
Tincture of gold, and coral, citron-pills,
Your elecampane root, myrobalanes —
VOLPONE Ay me, I have ta'en a grasshopper by the wing!
LADY POLITIC Burnt silk, and amber; you have muscadel
Good in the house —
VOLPONE You will not drink and part?
LADY POLITIC No, fear not that. I doubt we shall not get
Some English saffron — half a dram would serve;
Your sixteen cloves, a little musk, dried mints,
Bugloss, and barley meal —
VOLPONE She's in again!
Before I feigned diseases, now I have one
LADY POLITIC And these applied with a right scarlet cloth
VOLPONE Another flood of words! a very torrent!
LADY POLITIC Shall I, sir, make you a poultice?
VOLPONE No, no, no;
I'm very well, you need prescribe no more
LADY POLITIC I have a little studied physic; but now,
I'm all for music, save in the forenoons
An hour or two for painting. I would have
A lady, indeed, to have all letters and arts,
Be able to discourse, to write, to paint,
But principal, as Plato holds, your music
(And so does wise Pythagoras, I take it)
Is your true rapture, when there is consent
In face, in voice, and clothes: and is, indeed,
Our sex's 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?
Guarini? Ariosto? Aretine?
Cieco di Hadria? I have read them all
VOLPONE Is everything a cause to my destruction?
LADY POLITIC I think I have two or three of them about me
VOLPONE The sun, the sea, will sooner both stand still
Than her eternal tongue! Nothing can 'scape it
LADY POLITIC Here's Pastor Fido —
VOLPONE Profess obstinate silence;
That's now my safest.
LADY POLITIC All our English writers,
I mean such as are happy in th' Italian,
Will deign to steal out of this author, mainly;
Almost as much as from Montagnie:
He has so modern and facile a vein,
Fitting the time, and catching the court-ear!
Your Petrarch is more passionate, yet he,
In days of sonneting, trusted them with much:
Dante is hard, and few can understand him
But, for a desperate wit, there's Aretine;
Only, his pictures are a little obscene —
You mark me not?
VOLPONE Alas, my mind's perturbed
LADY POLITIC Why, in such cases, we must cure ourselves,
Make use of our philosophy —
VOLPONE Oh me!
LADY POLITIC And as we find our passions do rebel,
Encounter them with reason, or divert them
By giving scope unto some other humor
Of lesser danger; as in politic bodies,
There's nothing more doth overwhelm the judgment,
And cloud the understanding, than too much
Settling and fixing and, as 't were, subsiding
Upon one object For the incorporating
Of these same outward things into that part
Which we call mental, leaves some certain feces
That stop the organs and, as Plato says,
Assassinate our knowledge.
VOLPONE Now the spirit
Of patience help me!
LADY POLITIC Come, in faith, I must
Visit you more a-days, and make you well;
Laugh and be lusty
VOLPONE My good angel save me!
LADY POLITIC There was but one sole man in all the world
With whom I e'er could sympathize; and he
Would lie you, often three, four hours together
To hear me speak; and be sometime so rapt,
As he would answer me quite from the purpose,
Like you, and you are like him, just I'll discourse,
An 't be but only, sir, to bring you asleep,
How we did spend our time and loves together,
For some six years
VOLPONE Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!
LADY POLITIC For we were coaetanei , and brought up —
VOLPONE Some power, some fate, some fortune rescue me!
SCENE 5
MOSCA God save you, madam!
LADY POLITIC Good sir
VOLPONE Mosca! welcome,
Welcome to my redemption!
MOSCA Why, sir?
VOLPONE O,
Rid me of this my torture, quickly, there;
My madam with the everlasting voice:
The bells in time of pestilence ne'er made
Like noise, or were in that perpetual motion!
The cockpit comes not near it. All my house
But now steamed like a bath with her thick breath.
A lawyer could not have been heard; nor scarce
Another woman, such a hail of words
She has let fall For hell's sake, rid her hence
MOSCA Has she presented?
VOLPONE O, I do not care;
I'll take her absence upon any price,
With any loss.
MOSCA Madam —
LADY POLITIC I have brought your patron
A toy, a cap here, of mine own work.
MOSCA 'Tis well
I had forgot to tell you, I saw your knight,
Where you would little think it —
LADY POLITIC Where?
MOSCA Marry,
Where yet, if you make haste, you may apprehend him,
Rowing upon the water in a gondola,
With the most cunning courtesan of Venice
LADY POLITIC Is't true?
MOSCA Pursue them, and believe your eyes:
Leave me to make your gift
I knew 'twould take:
For, lightly, they that use themselves most license
Are still most jealous
VOLPONE Mosca, hearty thanks
For thy quick fiction and delivery of me.
Now to my hopes, what sayest thou?
LADY POLITIC But do you hear, sir? —
VOLPONE Again! I fear a paroxysm
LADY POLITIC Which way
Rowed they together?
MOSCA Toward the Rialto.
LADY POLITIC I pray you lend me your dwarf
MOSCA I pray you take him —
Your hopes, sir, are like happy blossoms: fair,
And promise timely fruit, if you will stay
But the maturing; keep you at your couch,
Corbaccio will arrive straight, with the will;
When he is gone, I'll tell you more.
VOLPONE My blood,
My spirits are returned; I am alive:
And, like your wanton gamester at primero,
Whose thought had whispered to him, not go less,
Methinks I lie, and draw — for an encounter.
SCENE 6. The passage leading to VOLPONE ' s chamber
MOSCA Sir, here concealed, you may hear all. But, pray you,
Have patience, sir — The same's your father knocks:
I am compelled to leave you
BONARIO Do so Yet
Cannot my thought imagine this a truth
SCENE 7. Another part of the same .
MOSCA Death on me! You are come too soon, what meant you?
Did not I say, I would send?
CORVINO Yes, but I feared
You might forget it, and then they prevent us.
MOSCA Prevent! Did e'er man haste so for his horns?
A courtier would not ply it so, for a place
— Well, now there is no helping it, stay here;
I'll presently return
CORVINO Where are you, Celia?
You know not wherefore I have brought you hither?
CELIA Not well, except you told me
CORVINO Now, I will:
Hark hither.
MOSCA Sir, your father hath sent word
It will be half an hour ere he come;
And therefore, if you please to walk the while
Into that gallery — at the upper end
There are some books to entertain the time;
And I'll take care no man shall come unto you, sir
BONARIO Yes, I will stay there. — I do doubt this fellow.
MOSCA There, he is far enough; he can hear nothing:
And, for his father, I can keep him off
CORVINO Nay, now, there is no starting back, and therefore
Resolve upon it: I have so decreed
It must be done. Nor would I move 't afore,
Because I would avoid all shifts and tricks
That might deny me
CELIA Sir, let me beseech you,
Affect not these strange trials; if you doubt
My chastity, why, lock me up forever;
Make me the heir of darkness Let me live
Where I may please your fears, if not your trust
CORVINO Believe it, I have no such humor, I
All that I speak I mean; yet I'm not mad;
Not horn-mad, see you? Go to, show yourself
Obedient, and a wife.
CELIA O heaven!
CORVINO I say it,
Do so
CELIA Was this the train?
CORVINO I've told you reasons:
What the physicians have set down; how much
It may concern me; what my engagements are;
My means; and the necessity of those means,
For my recovery: wherefore, if you be
Loyal and mine, be won, respect my venture
CELIA Before your honor?
CORVINO Honor! tut, a breath;
There's no such thing in nature. A mere term
Invented to awe fools What, is my gold
The worse for touching, clothes for being looked on?
Why, this 's no more. An old decrepit wretch,
That has no sense, no sinew; takes his meat
With others' fingers; only knows to gape
When you do scald his gums; a voice; a shadow;
And what can this man hurt you?
CELIA Lord! what spirit
Is this hath entered him?
CORVINO And for your fame,
That's such a jig; as if I would go tell it,
Cry it on the Piazza! Who shall know it,
But he that cannot speak it, and this fellow,
Whose lips are in my pocket? Save yourself
(If you'll proclaim 't, you may), I know no other
Should come to know it
CELIA Are heaven and saints then nothing?
Will they be blind or stupid?
CORVINO How!
CELIA Good sir,
Be jealous still, emulate them; and think
What hate they burn with toward every sin.
CORVINO I grant you; if I thought it were a sin,
I would not urge you. Should I offer this
To some young Frenchman, or hot Tuscan blood
That had read Aretine, conned all his prints,
Knew every quirk within lust's labyrinth,
And were professed critic in lechery,
And I would look upon him, and applaud him,
This were a sin: but here, 'tis contrary,
A pious work, mere charity, for physic,
And honest polity to assure mine own.
CELIA O heaven! canst thou suffer such a change?
VOLPONE Thou art mine honor, Mosca, and my pride,
My joy, my tickling, my delight! Go bring them
MOSCA Please you draw near, sir.
CORVINO Come on, what —
You will not be rebellious? By that light —
MOSCA Sir,
Signor Corvino here is come to see you
VOLPONE O!
MOSCA And hearing of the consultation had,
So lately, for your health, is come to offer,
Or rather, sir, to prostitute —
CORVINO Thanks, sweet Mosca
MOSCA Freely, unasked, or unentreated —
CORVINO Well
MOSCA As the true fervent instance of his love,
His own most fair and proper wife, the beauty
Only of price in Venice —
CORVINO 'Tis well urged
MOSCA To be your comfortress, and to preserve you
VOLPONE Alas, I'm past, already! Pray you, thank him
For his good care and promptness; but for that,
'Tis a vain labor e'en to fight 'gainst heaven;
Applying fire to stone — uh, uh, uh, uh! —
Making a dead leaf grow again I take
His wishes gently, though; and you may tell him
What I've done for him: marry, my state is hopeless
Will him to pray for me; and to use his fortune
With reverence, when he comes to 't
MOSCA Do you hear, sir?
Go to him with your wife.
CORVINO Heart of my father!
Wilt thou persist thus? Come, I pray thee, come
Thou seest 'tis nothing Celia! By this hand,
I shall grow violent Come, do 't, I say
CELIA Sir, kill me, rather: I will take down poison,
Eat burning coals, do anything
CORVINO Be damned!
'Heart! I will drag thee hence, home, by the hair,
Cry thee a strumpet through the streets; rip up
Thy mouth unto thine ears; and slit thy nose,
Like a raw rochet! — Do not tempt me; come,
Yield, I am loath — Death! I will buy some slave
Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him, alive;
And at my window hang you forth, devising
Some monstrous crime which I, in capital letters;
Will eat into thy flesh with aquafortis
And burning corsives, on this stubborn breast,
Now, by the blood thou hast incensed, I'll do it!
CELIA Sir, what you please you may, I am your martyr
CORVINO Be not thus obstinate, I have not deserved it:
Think who it is entreats you. Pray thee, sweet;
Good faith, thou shalt have jewels, gowns, attires,
What thou wilt think, and ask. Do but go kiss him
Or touch him, but. For my sake. At my suit
This once. No? Not? I shall remember this
Will you disgrace me thus? Do you thirst my undoing?
MOSCA Nay, gentle lady, be advised
CORVINO No, no.
She has watched her time God's precious, this is scurvy,
'Tis very scurvy; and you are —
MOSCA Nay, good sir
CORVINO An arrant locust, by heaven, a locust! Whore,
Crocodile, that hast thy tears prepared,
Expecting how thou 'lt bid them flow —
MOSCA Nay, pray you, sir!
She will consider.
CELIA Would my life would serve
To satisfy —
CORVINO 'Sdeath! If she would but speak to him,
And save my reputation, 'twere somewhat;
But spitefully to affect my utter ruin!
MOSCA Ay, now you've put your fortune in her hands.
Why, i 'faith, it is her modesty; I must quit her
If you were absent, she would be more coming
I know it, and dare undertake for her.
What woman can before her husband? Pray you,
Let us depart, and leave her here
CORVINO Sweet Celia,
Thou mayst redeem all yet; I'll say no more:
If not, esteem yourself as lost. Nay, stay there.
CELIA O God, and his good angels! whither, whither,
Is shame fled human breasts? that with such ease
Men dare put off your honors, and their own?
Is that which ever was a cause of life
Now placed beneath the basest circumstance,
And modesty an exile made, for money?
VOLPONE Ay, in Corvino, and such earth-fed minds,
That never tasted the true heaven of love.
Assure thee, Celia, he that would sell thee,
Only for hope of gain, and that uncertain,
He would have sold his part of Paradise
For ready money, had he met a cope-man
Why art thou mazed to see me thus revived?
Rather applaud thy beauty's miracle;
'Tis thy great work: that hath, not now alone,
But sundry times raised me, in several shapes,
And, but this morning, like a mountebank,
To see thee at thy window. Ay, before
I would have left my practice for thy love
In varying figures I would have contended
With the blue Proteus, or the horned flood
Now art thou welcome
CELIA Sir!
VOLPONE Nay, fly me not
Nor let thy false imagination
That I was bed-rid, make thee think I am so:
Thou shalt not find it I am now as fresh,
As hot, as high, and in as jovial plight
As when in that so celebrated scene
At recitation of our comedy,
For entertainment of the great Valois,
I acted young Antinous; and attracted
The eyes and ears of all the ladies present,
To admire each graceful gesture, note, and footing
SONG
Come, my Celia, let us prove,
While we can, the sports of love;
Time will not be ours forever,
He, at length, our good will sever,
Spend not then his gifts in vain
Suns that set may rise again;
But if once we lose this light,
'Tis with us perpetual night.
Why should we defer our joys?
Fame and rumor are but toys
Cannot we delude the eyes
Of a few poor household spies?
Or his easier ears beguile,
Thus removed by our wile?
'Tis no sin love's fruits to steal;
But the sweet thefts to reveal,
To be taken, to be seen,
These have crimes accounted been
CELIA Some serene blast me, or dire lightning strike
This my offending face!
VOLPONE Why droops my Celia?
Thou hast, in place of a base husband, found
A worthy lover: use thy fortune well,
With secrecy and pleasure. See, behold
What thou art queen of; not in expectation,
As I feed others, but possessed and crowned
See here a rope of pearl, and each more orient
Than that the brave Egyptian queen caroused:
Dissolve and drink them See, a carbuncle
May put out both the eyes of our St. Mark;
A diamond, would have bought Lollia Paulina,
When she came in like starlight, hid with jewels
That were the spoils of provinces; take these,
And wear, and lose them: yet remains an earring
To purchase them again, and this whole state.
A gem but worth a private patrimony
Is nothing: we will eat such at a meal.
The heads of parrots, tongues of nightingales,
The brains of peacocks, and of ostriches
Shall be our food: and, could we get the phoenix,
Though nature lost her kind, she were our dish.
CELIA Good sir, these things might move a mind affected
With such delights; but I, whose innocence
Is all I can think wealthy, or worth th' enjoying,
And which, once lost, I have nought to lose beyond it,
Cannot be taken with these sensual baits:
If you have conscience —
VOLPONE 'Tis the beggar's virtue;
If thou hast wisdom, hear me, Celia.
Thy baths shall be the juice of gilly-flowers,
Spirit of roses, and of violets,
The milk of unicorns, and panthers' breath
Gathered in bags and mixed with Cretan wines
Our drink shall be prepared gold and amber,
Which we will take until my roof whirl round
With the vertigo; and my dwarf shall dance,
My eunuch sing, my fool make up the antic,
Whilst we, in changed shapes, act Ovid's tales,
Thou like Europa now, and I like Jove,
Then I like Mars and thou like Erycine:
So of the rest, till we have quite run through
And wearied all the fables of the gods
Then will I have thee in more modern forms,
Attired like some sprightly dame of France,
Brave Tuscan lady, or proud Spanish beauty;
Sometimes, unto the Persian Sophy's wife,
Or the Grand Signor's mistress; and, for change,
To one of our most artful courtesans,
Or some quick Negro, or cold Russian;
And I will meet thee in as many shapes:
Where we may so transfuse our wandering souls
Out at our lips, and score up sums of pleasures,
That the curious shall not know
How to tell them as they flow;
And the envious, when they find
What their number is, be pined
CELIA If you have ears that will be pierced; or eyes
That can be opened; a heart may be touched;
Or any part that yet sounds man about you;
If you have touch of holy saints, or heaven,
Do me the grace to let me 'scape. If not,
Be bountiful and kill me. You do know
I am a creature hither ill betrayed
By one whose shame I would forget it were
If you will deign me neither of these graces,
Yet feed your wrath, sir, rather than your lust
(It is a vice comes nearer manliness),
And punish that unhappy crime of nature,
Which you miscall my beauty; flay my face,
Or poison it with ointments for seducing
Your blood to this rebellion. Rub these hands
With what may cause an eating leprosy,
E'en to my bones and marrow: anything
That may disfavor me, save in my honor —
And I will kneel to you, pray for you, pay down
A thousand hourly vows, sir, for your health;
Report, and think you virtuous —
VOLPONE Think me cold,
Frozen, and impotent, and so report me?
That I had Nestor's hernia, thou wouldst think
I do degenerate, and abuse my nation,
To play with opportunity thus long;
I should have done the act, and then have parleyed
Yield, or I'll force thee
CELIA O! just God!
VOLPONE In vain —
BONARIO Forbear, foul ravisher! libidinous swine!
Free the forced lady, or thou diest, impostor!
But that I'm loath to snatch thy punishment
Out of the hand of justice, thou shouldst yet
Be made the timely sacrifice of vengeance
Before this altar, and this dross, thy idol.
Lady, let's quit the place, it is the den
Of villainy; fear nought, you have a guard:
And he ere long shall meet his just reward.
VOLPONE Fall on me, roof, and bury me in ruin!
Become my grave, that wert my shelter! O!
I am unmasked, unspirited, undone,
Betrayed to beggary, to infamy —
SCENE 8
MOSCA Where shall I run, most wretched shame of men,
To beat out my unlucky brains?
VOLPONE Here, here
What! dost thou bleed?
MOSCA O that his well-driven sword
Had been so courteous to have cleft me down
Unto the navel, ere I lived to see
My life, my hopes, my spirits, my patron, all
Thus desperately engaged, by my error!
VOLPONE Woe on thy fortune!
MOSCA And my follies, sir
VOLPONE Thou hast made me miserable
MOSCA And myself, sir
Who would have thought he would have hearkened so?
VOLPONE What shall we do?
MOSCA I know not; if my heart
Could expiate the mischance, I'd pluck it out
Will you be pleased to hang me? or cut my throat?
And I'll requite you, sir. Let's die like Romans,
Since we have lived like Grecians
VOLPONE Hark! who's there?
I hear some footing; officers, the Saffi,
Come to apprehend us! I do feel the brand
Hissing already at my forehead; now
Mine ears are boring
MOSCA To your couch, sir; you
Make that place good, however — Guilty men
Suspect what they deserve still. Signor Corbaccio!
SCENE 9
CORBACCIO Why, how now, Mosca?
MOSCA O, undone, amazed, sir
Your son, I know not by what accident,
Acquainted with your purpose to my patron
Touching your will, and making him your heir,
Entered our house with violence, his sword drawn,
Sought for you, called you wretch, unnatural,
Vowed he would kill you
CORBACCIO Me!
MOSCA Yes, and my patron
CORBACCIO This act shall disinherit him indeed:
Here is the will.
MOSCA 'Tis well, sir
CORBACCIO Right and well;
Be you as careful now for me
MOSCA My life, sir,
Is not more tendered; I am only yours
CORBACCIO How does he? Will he die shortly, think'st thou?
MOSCA I fear
He'll outlast May.
CORBACCIO Today?
MOSCA No, last out May, sir.
CORBACCIO Couldst thou not give him a dram?
MOSCA O, by no means, sir
CORBACCIO Nay, I'll not bid you
VOLTORE This is a knave, I see.
MOSCA How! Signor Voltore! Did he hear me?
VOLTORE Parasite!
MOSCA Who's that? O, sir, most timely welcome —
VOLTORE Scarce
To the discovery of your tricks, I fear
You are his, only? and mine also, are you not?
MOSCA Who? I, sir?
VOLTORE You, sir What device is this
About a will?
MOSCA A plot for you, sir
VOLTORE Come,
Put not your foists upon me; I shall scent them
MOSCA Did you not hear it?
VOLTORE Yes, I hear Corbaccio
Hath made your patron there his heir
MOSCA 'Tis true,
By my device, drawn to it by my plot,
With hope —
VOLTORE Your patron should reciprocate?
And you have promised?
MOSCA For your good, I did, sir
Nay more, I told his son, brought, hid him here,
Where he might hear his father pass the deed;
Being persuaded to it by this thought, sir,
That the unnaturalness, first, of the act,
And then his father's oft disclaiming in him
(Which I did mean t' help on), would sure enrage him
To do some violence upon his parent,
On which the law should take sufficient hold,
And you be stated in a double hope:
Truth be my comfort, and my conscience,
My only aim was to dig you a fortune
Out of these two old rotten sepulchres —
VOLTORE I cry thee mercy, Mosca
MOSCA Worth your patience,
And your great merit, sir. And see the change!
VOLTORE Why, what success?
MOSCA Most hapless! you must help, sir
Whilst we expected the old raven, in comes
Gorvino's wife, sent hither by her husband —
VOLTORE What, with a present?
MOSCA No, sir, on visitation
(I'll tell you how anon); and, staying long;
The youth he grows impatient, rushes forth,
Seizeth the lady, wounds me, makes her swear
(Or he would murder her, that was his vow)
To affirm my patron to have done her rape:
Which how unlike it is, you see! and hence,
With that pretext he's gone to accuse his father,
Defame my patron, defeat you —
VOLTORE Where's her husband?
Let him be sent for straight
MOSCA Sir, I'll go fetch him
VOLTORE Bring him to the Scrutineo
MOSCA Sir, I will
VOLTORE This must be stopped
MOSCA O, you do nobly, sir
Alas, 'twas labored all, sir, for your good;
Nor was there want of counsel in the plot:
But fortune can, at any time, o'erthrow
The projects of a hundred learned clerks, sir
CORBACCIO What's that?
VOLTORE Will 't please you, sir, to go along?
MOSCA Patron, go in, and pray for our success.
VOLPONE Need makes devotion: heaven your labor bless!
MOSCA I fear I shall begin to grow in love
With my dear self and my most prosperous parts,
They do so spring and burgeon; I can feel
A whimsy in my blood: I know not how,
Success hath made me wanton. I could skip
Out of my skin, now, like a subtle snake,
I am so limber. O! your parasite
Is a most precious thing, dropped from above,
Not bred 'mongst clods and clodpoles here on earth
I muse the mystery was not made a science,
It is so liberally professed! Almost
All the wise world is little else, in nature,
But parasites or sub parasites. And yet
I mean not those that have your bare town-art,
To know who's fit to feed them; have no house,
No family, no care, and therefore mold
Tales for men's ears, to bait that sense; or get
Kitchen-invention, and some stale receipts
To please the belly, and the groin; nor those,
With their court dog-tricks, that can fawn and fleer,
Make their revenue out of legs and faces,
Echo my lord, and lick away a moth:
But your fine elegant rascal, that can rise
And stoop almost together, like an arrow;
Shoot through the air as nimbly as a star;
Turn short as doth a swallow; and be here,
And there, and here, and yonder, all at once;
Present to any humor, all occasion;
And change a visor swifter than a thought!
This is the creature had the art born with him;
Toils not to learn it, but doth practice it
Out of most excellent nature; and such sparks
Are the true parasites, others but their zanies.
SCENE 2
MOSCA Who's this? Bonario, old Corbaccio's son?
The person I was bound to seek — Fair sir,
You are happily met
BONARIO That cannot be by thee.
MOSCA Why, sir?
BONARIO Nay, pray thee know thy way, and leave me:
I would be loath to interchange discourse
With such a mate as thou art
MOSCA Courteous sir,
Scorn not my poverty
BONARIO Not I, by heaven;
But thou shalt give me leave to hate thy baseness
MOSCA Baseness!
BONARIO Ay; answer me, is not thy sloth
Sufficient argument? thy flattery?
Thy means of feeding?
MOSCA Heaven be good to me!
These imputations are too common, sir,
And easily stuck on virtue when she's poor
You are unequal to me and howe'er
Your sentence may be righteous, yet you are not,
That, ere you know me, thus proceed in censure:
St. Mark bear witness 'gainst you, 'tis inhuman.
BONARIO What! does he weep? The sign is soft and good;
I do repent me that I was so harsh
MOSCA 'Tis true that, swayed by strong necessity,
I am enforced to eat my careful bread
With too much obsequy; 'tis true, beside,
That I am fain to spin mine own poor raiment
Out of my mere observance, being not born
To a free fortune: but that I have done
Base offices, in rending friends asunder,
Dividing families, betraying counsels,
Whispering false lies, or mining men with praises,
Trained their credulity with perjuries,
Corrupted chastity, or am in love
With mine own tender ease, but would not rather
Prove the most rugged and laborious course
That might redeem my present estimation,
Let me here perish in all hope of goodness,
BONARIO This cannot be a personated passion —
MOSCA Sir, it concerns you; and though I may seem
At first to make a main offense in manners,
And in my gratitude unto my master,
Yet for the pure love which I bear all right,
And hatred of the wrong, I must reveal it
This very hour your father is in purpose
To disinherit you —
BONARIO How!
MOSCA And thrust you forth
As a mere stranger to his blood; 'tis true, sir
The work no way engageth me, but as
I claim an interest in the general state
Of goodness and true virtue, which I hear
T' abound in you; and for which mere respect,
Without a second aim, sir, I have done it
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 unnatural
MOSCA It is a confidence that well becomes
Your piety; and formed, no doubt, it is
From your own simple innocence; which makes
Your wrong more monstrous and abhorred. But, sir,
I now will tell you more. This very minute,
It is or will be doing; and, if you
Shall be but pleased to go with me, I'll bring you,
I dare not say where you shall see, but where
Your ear shall be a witness of the deed;
Hear yourself written bastard and professed
The common issue of the earth
BONARIO I'm mazed.
MOSCA Sir, if I do it not, draw your just sword,
And score your vengeance on my front and face;
Mark me your villain: you have too much wrong,
And I do suffer for you, sir My heart
Weeps blood in anguish —
BONARIO Lead; I follow thee
SCENE 3 A room in VOLPONE 's house
VOLPONE Mosca stays long, methinks Bring forth your sports,
And help to make the wretched time more sweet.
NANO Dwarf, fool, and eunuch, well met here we be .
A question it were now, whether of us three,
Being, all, the known delicates of a rich man,
In pleasing him, claim the precedency can?
NANO 'Tis foolish indeed: let me set you both to school .
First for your dwarf, he's little and witty,
And everything, as it is little, is pretty;
Else why do men say to a creature of my shape,
So soon as they see him, " It's a pretty little ape? "
And why a pretty ape, but for pleasing imitation
Of greater men's action, in a ridiculous fashion?
Beside, this feat body of mine doth not crave
Half the meat, drink, and cloth one of your bulks will have
Admit your fool's face be the mother of laughter,
Yet, for his brain, it must always come after;
And though that do feed him, it's a pitiful case
His body is beholding to such a bad face.
VOLPONE Who's there? my couch; away! Look, Nano, see —
Give me my caps, first — go, enquire Now, Cupid
Sent it be Mosca, and with fair return!
NANO It is the beauteous madam —
VOLPONE Would be — is it?
NANO The same
VOLPONE Now torment on me! Squire her in;
For she will enter, or dwell here forever:
Nay, quickly. — That my fit were past! I fear
A second hell too, that my loathing this
Will quite expel my appetite to the other:
Would she were taking now her tedious leave
Lord, how it threats me what I am to suffer!
SCENE 4
LADY POLITIC I thank you, good sir. Pray you signify
Unto your patron I am here. — This band
Shows not my neck enough — I trouble you, sir.
Let me request you, bid one of my women
Come hither to me. In good faith, I am dressed
Most favorably today. It is no matter;
'Tis well enough.
Look, see, these petulant things,
How they have done this!
VOLPONE I do feel the fever
Entering in at mine ears; O, for a charm
To fright it hence!
LADY POLITIC Come nearer: is this curl
In his right place? or this? Why is this higher
Than all the rest? You have not washed your eyes yet?
Or do they not stand even in your head?
Where is your fellow? call her.
NANO Now, St Mark
Deliver us! Anon she'll beat her women,
Because her nose is red
LADY POLITIC I pray you, view
This tire, forsooth: are all things apt, or no?
2 WOMAN One hair a little, here, sticks out, forsooth
LADY POLITIC Does 't so, forsooth! And where was your dear sight
When it did so, forsooth! What now! bird-eyed?
And you, too? Pray you both approach and mend it
Now, by that light, I muse you're not ashamed!
I, that have preached these things so oft unto you,
Read you the principles, argued all the grounds,
Disputed every fitness, every grace,
Called you to counsel of so frequent dressings —
NANO More carefully than 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 return; 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 dress herself. —
Here's a fine imputation to our country!
Well, go your ways, and stay in the next room.
This fucus was too coarse too; it's no matter
Good sir, you'll give them entertainment?
VOLPONE The storm comes toward me
LADY POLITIC How does my Volpone?
VOLPONE Troubled with noise; I cannot sleep; I dreamt
That a strange fury entered now my house
And with the dreadful tempest of her breath
Did cleave my roof asunder
LADY POLITIC Believe me, and I
Had the most fearful dream, could I remember 't —
VOLPONE Out on my fate! I have given her the occasion
How to torment me: she will tell me hers.
LADY POLITIC Methought, the golden mediocrity,
Polite, and delicate —
VOLPONE O, if you do love me,
No more; I sweat and suffer at the mention
Of any dream: feel how I tremble yet
LADY POLITIC Alas, good soul! the passion of the heart
Seed-pearl were good now, boiled with syrup of apples,
Tincture of gold, and coral, citron-pills,
Your elecampane root, myrobalanes —
VOLPONE Ay me, I have ta'en a grasshopper by the wing!
LADY POLITIC Burnt silk, and amber; you have muscadel
Good in the house —
VOLPONE You will not drink and part?
LADY POLITIC No, fear not that. I doubt we shall not get
Some English saffron — half a dram would serve;
Your sixteen cloves, a little musk, dried mints,
Bugloss, and barley meal —
VOLPONE She's in again!
Before I feigned diseases, now I have one
LADY POLITIC And these applied with a right scarlet cloth
VOLPONE Another flood of words! a very torrent!
LADY POLITIC Shall I, sir, make you a poultice?
VOLPONE No, no, no;
I'm very well, you need prescribe no more
LADY POLITIC I have a little studied physic; but now,
I'm all for music, save in the forenoons
An hour or two for painting. I would have
A lady, indeed, to have all letters and arts,
Be able to discourse, to write, to paint,
But principal, as Plato holds, your music
(And so does wise Pythagoras, I take it)
Is your true rapture, when there is consent
In face, in voice, and clothes: and is, indeed,
Our sex's 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?
Guarini? Ariosto? Aretine?
Cieco di Hadria? I have read them all
VOLPONE Is everything a cause to my destruction?
LADY POLITIC I think I have two or three of them about me
VOLPONE The sun, the sea, will sooner both stand still
Than her eternal tongue! Nothing can 'scape it
LADY POLITIC Here's Pastor Fido —
VOLPONE Profess obstinate silence;
That's now my safest.
LADY POLITIC All our English writers,
I mean such as are happy in th' Italian,
Will deign to steal out of this author, mainly;
Almost as much as from Montagnie:
He has so modern and facile a vein,
Fitting the time, and catching the court-ear!
Your Petrarch is more passionate, yet he,
In days of sonneting, trusted them with much:
Dante is hard, and few can understand him
But, for a desperate wit, there's Aretine;
Only, his pictures are a little obscene —
You mark me not?
VOLPONE Alas, my mind's perturbed
LADY POLITIC Why, in such cases, we must cure ourselves,
Make use of our philosophy —
VOLPONE Oh me!
LADY POLITIC And as we find our passions do rebel,
Encounter them with reason, or divert them
By giving scope unto some other humor
Of lesser danger; as in politic bodies,
There's nothing more doth overwhelm the judgment,
And cloud the understanding, than too much
Settling and fixing and, as 't were, subsiding
Upon one object For the incorporating
Of these same outward things into that part
Which we call mental, leaves some certain feces
That stop the organs and, as Plato says,
Assassinate our knowledge.
VOLPONE Now the spirit
Of patience help me!
LADY POLITIC Come, in faith, I must
Visit you more a-days, and make you well;
Laugh and be lusty
VOLPONE My good angel save me!
LADY POLITIC There was but one sole man in all the world
With whom I e'er could sympathize; and he
Would lie you, often three, four hours together
To hear me speak; and be sometime so rapt,
As he would answer me quite from the purpose,
Like you, and you are like him, just I'll discourse,
An 't be but only, sir, to bring you asleep,
How we did spend our time and loves together,
For some six years
VOLPONE Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!
LADY POLITIC For we were coaetanei , and brought up —
VOLPONE Some power, some fate, some fortune rescue me!
SCENE 5
MOSCA God save you, madam!
LADY POLITIC Good sir
VOLPONE Mosca! welcome,
Welcome to my redemption!
MOSCA Why, sir?
VOLPONE O,
Rid me of this my torture, quickly, there;
My madam with the everlasting voice:
The bells in time of pestilence ne'er made
Like noise, or were in that perpetual motion!
The cockpit comes not near it. All my house
But now steamed like a bath with her thick breath.
A lawyer could not have been heard; nor scarce
Another woman, such a hail of words
She has let fall For hell's sake, rid her hence
MOSCA Has she presented?
VOLPONE O, I do not care;
I'll take her absence upon any price,
With any loss.
MOSCA Madam —
LADY POLITIC I have brought your patron
A toy, a cap here, of mine own work.
MOSCA 'Tis well
I had forgot to tell you, I saw your knight,
Where you would little think it —
LADY POLITIC Where?
MOSCA Marry,
Where yet, if you make haste, you may apprehend him,
Rowing upon the water in a gondola,
With the most cunning courtesan of Venice
LADY POLITIC Is't true?
MOSCA Pursue them, and believe your eyes:
Leave me to make your gift
I knew 'twould take:
For, lightly, they that use themselves most license
Are still most jealous
VOLPONE Mosca, hearty thanks
For thy quick fiction and delivery of me.
Now to my hopes, what sayest thou?
LADY POLITIC But do you hear, sir? —
VOLPONE Again! I fear a paroxysm
LADY POLITIC Which way
Rowed they together?
MOSCA Toward the Rialto.
LADY POLITIC I pray you lend me your dwarf
MOSCA I pray you take him —
Your hopes, sir, are like happy blossoms: fair,
And promise timely fruit, if you will stay
But the maturing; keep you at your couch,
Corbaccio will arrive straight, with the will;
When he is gone, I'll tell you more.
VOLPONE My blood,
My spirits are returned; I am alive:
And, like your wanton gamester at primero,
Whose thought had whispered to him, not go less,
Methinks I lie, and draw — for an encounter.
SCENE 6. The passage leading to VOLPONE ' s chamber
MOSCA Sir, here concealed, you may hear all. But, pray you,
Have patience, sir — The same's your father knocks:
I am compelled to leave you
BONARIO Do so Yet
Cannot my thought imagine this a truth
SCENE 7. Another part of the same .
MOSCA Death on me! You are come too soon, what meant you?
Did not I say, I would send?
CORVINO Yes, but I feared
You might forget it, and then they prevent us.
MOSCA Prevent! Did e'er man haste so for his horns?
A courtier would not ply it so, for a place
— Well, now there is no helping it, stay here;
I'll presently return
CORVINO Where are you, Celia?
You know not wherefore I have brought you hither?
CELIA Not well, except you told me
CORVINO Now, I will:
Hark hither.
MOSCA Sir, your father hath sent word
It will be half an hour ere he come;
And therefore, if you please to walk the while
Into that gallery — at the upper end
There are some books to entertain the time;
And I'll take care no man shall come unto you, sir
BONARIO Yes, I will stay there. — I do doubt this fellow.
MOSCA There, he is far enough; he can hear nothing:
And, for his father, I can keep him off
CORVINO Nay, now, there is no starting back, and therefore
Resolve upon it: I have so decreed
It must be done. Nor would I move 't afore,
Because I would avoid all shifts and tricks
That might deny me
CELIA Sir, let me beseech you,
Affect not these strange trials; if you doubt
My chastity, why, lock me up forever;
Make me the heir of darkness Let me live
Where I may please your fears, if not your trust
CORVINO Believe it, I have no such humor, I
All that I speak I mean; yet I'm not mad;
Not horn-mad, see you? Go to, show yourself
Obedient, and a wife.
CELIA O heaven!
CORVINO I say it,
Do so
CELIA Was this the train?
CORVINO I've told you reasons:
What the physicians have set down; how much
It may concern me; what my engagements are;
My means; and the necessity of those means,
For my recovery: wherefore, if you be
Loyal and mine, be won, respect my venture
CELIA Before your honor?
CORVINO Honor! tut, a breath;
There's no such thing in nature. A mere term
Invented to awe fools What, is my gold
The worse for touching, clothes for being looked on?
Why, this 's no more. An old decrepit wretch,
That has no sense, no sinew; takes his meat
With others' fingers; only knows to gape
When you do scald his gums; a voice; a shadow;
And what can this man hurt you?
CELIA Lord! what spirit
Is this hath entered him?
CORVINO And for your fame,
That's such a jig; as if I would go tell it,
Cry it on the Piazza! Who shall know it,
But he that cannot speak it, and this fellow,
Whose lips are in my pocket? Save yourself
(If you'll proclaim 't, you may), I know no other
Should come to know it
CELIA Are heaven and saints then nothing?
Will they be blind or stupid?
CORVINO How!
CELIA Good sir,
Be jealous still, emulate them; and think
What hate they burn with toward every sin.
CORVINO I grant you; if I thought it were a sin,
I would not urge you. Should I offer this
To some young Frenchman, or hot Tuscan blood
That had read Aretine, conned all his prints,
Knew every quirk within lust's labyrinth,
And were professed critic in lechery,
And I would look upon him, and applaud him,
This were a sin: but here, 'tis contrary,
A pious work, mere charity, for physic,
And honest polity to assure mine own.
CELIA O heaven! canst thou suffer such a change?
VOLPONE Thou art mine honor, Mosca, and my pride,
My joy, my tickling, my delight! Go bring them
MOSCA Please you draw near, sir.
CORVINO Come on, what —
You will not be rebellious? By that light —
MOSCA Sir,
Signor Corvino here is come to see you
VOLPONE O!
MOSCA And hearing of the consultation had,
So lately, for your health, is come to offer,
Or rather, sir, to prostitute —
CORVINO Thanks, sweet Mosca
MOSCA Freely, unasked, or unentreated —
CORVINO Well
MOSCA As the true fervent instance of his love,
His own most fair and proper wife, the beauty
Only of price in Venice —
CORVINO 'Tis well urged
MOSCA To be your comfortress, and to preserve you
VOLPONE Alas, I'm past, already! Pray you, thank him
For his good care and promptness; but for that,
'Tis a vain labor e'en to fight 'gainst heaven;
Applying fire to stone — uh, uh, uh, uh! —
Making a dead leaf grow again I take
His wishes gently, though; and you may tell him
What I've done for him: marry, my state is hopeless
Will him to pray for me; and to use his fortune
With reverence, when he comes to 't
MOSCA Do you hear, sir?
Go to him with your wife.
CORVINO Heart of my father!
Wilt thou persist thus? Come, I pray thee, come
Thou seest 'tis nothing Celia! By this hand,
I shall grow violent Come, do 't, I say
CELIA Sir, kill me, rather: I will take down poison,
Eat burning coals, do anything
CORVINO Be damned!
'Heart! I will drag thee hence, home, by the hair,
Cry thee a strumpet through the streets; rip up
Thy mouth unto thine ears; and slit thy nose,
Like a raw rochet! — Do not tempt me; come,
Yield, I am loath — Death! I will buy some slave
Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him, alive;
And at my window hang you forth, devising
Some monstrous crime which I, in capital letters;
Will eat into thy flesh with aquafortis
And burning corsives, on this stubborn breast,
Now, by the blood thou hast incensed, I'll do it!
CELIA Sir, what you please you may, I am your martyr
CORVINO Be not thus obstinate, I have not deserved it:
Think who it is entreats you. Pray thee, sweet;
Good faith, thou shalt have jewels, gowns, attires,
What thou wilt think, and ask. Do but go kiss him
Or touch him, but. For my sake. At my suit
This once. No? Not? I shall remember this
Will you disgrace me thus? Do you thirst my undoing?
MOSCA Nay, gentle lady, be advised
CORVINO No, no.
She has watched her time God's precious, this is scurvy,
'Tis very scurvy; and you are —
MOSCA Nay, good sir
CORVINO An arrant locust, by heaven, a locust! Whore,
Crocodile, that hast thy tears prepared,
Expecting how thou 'lt bid them flow —
MOSCA Nay, pray you, sir!
She will consider.
CELIA Would my life would serve
To satisfy —
CORVINO 'Sdeath! If she would but speak to him,
And save my reputation, 'twere somewhat;
But spitefully to affect my utter ruin!
MOSCA Ay, now you've put your fortune in her hands.
Why, i 'faith, it is her modesty; I must quit her
If you were absent, she would be more coming
I know it, and dare undertake for her.
What woman can before her husband? Pray you,
Let us depart, and leave her here
CORVINO Sweet Celia,
Thou mayst redeem all yet; I'll say no more:
If not, esteem yourself as lost. Nay, stay there.
CELIA O God, and his good angels! whither, whither,
Is shame fled human breasts? that with such ease
Men dare put off your honors, and their own?
Is that which ever was a cause of life
Now placed beneath the basest circumstance,
And modesty an exile made, for money?
VOLPONE Ay, in Corvino, and such earth-fed minds,
That never tasted the true heaven of love.
Assure thee, Celia, he that would sell thee,
Only for hope of gain, and that uncertain,
He would have sold his part of Paradise
For ready money, had he met a cope-man
Why art thou mazed to see me thus revived?
Rather applaud thy beauty's miracle;
'Tis thy great work: that hath, not now alone,
But sundry times raised me, in several shapes,
And, but this morning, like a mountebank,
To see thee at thy window. Ay, before
I would have left my practice for thy love
In varying figures I would have contended
With the blue Proteus, or the horned flood
Now art thou welcome
CELIA Sir!
VOLPONE Nay, fly me not
Nor let thy false imagination
That I was bed-rid, make thee think I am so:
Thou shalt not find it I am now as fresh,
As hot, as high, and in as jovial plight
As when in that so celebrated scene
At recitation of our comedy,
For entertainment of the great Valois,
I acted young Antinous; and attracted
The eyes and ears of all the ladies present,
To admire each graceful gesture, note, and footing
SONG
Come, my Celia, let us prove,
While we can, the sports of love;
Time will not be ours forever,
He, at length, our good will sever,
Spend not then his gifts in vain
Suns that set may rise again;
But if once we lose this light,
'Tis with us perpetual night.
Why should we defer our joys?
Fame and rumor are but toys
Cannot we delude the eyes
Of a few poor household spies?
Or his easier ears beguile,
Thus removed by our wile?
'Tis no sin love's fruits to steal;
But the sweet thefts to reveal,
To be taken, to be seen,
These have crimes accounted been
CELIA Some serene blast me, or dire lightning strike
This my offending face!
VOLPONE Why droops my Celia?
Thou hast, in place of a base husband, found
A worthy lover: use thy fortune well,
With secrecy and pleasure. See, behold
What thou art queen of; not in expectation,
As I feed others, but possessed and crowned
See here a rope of pearl, and each more orient
Than that the brave Egyptian queen caroused:
Dissolve and drink them See, a carbuncle
May put out both the eyes of our St. Mark;
A diamond, would have bought Lollia Paulina,
When she came in like starlight, hid with jewels
That were the spoils of provinces; take these,
And wear, and lose them: yet remains an earring
To purchase them again, and this whole state.
A gem but worth a private patrimony
Is nothing: we will eat such at a meal.
The heads of parrots, tongues of nightingales,
The brains of peacocks, and of ostriches
Shall be our food: and, could we get the phoenix,
Though nature lost her kind, she were our dish.
CELIA Good sir, these things might move a mind affected
With such delights; but I, whose innocence
Is all I can think wealthy, or worth th' enjoying,
And which, once lost, I have nought to lose beyond it,
Cannot be taken with these sensual baits:
If you have conscience —
VOLPONE 'Tis the beggar's virtue;
If thou hast wisdom, hear me, Celia.
Thy baths shall be the juice of gilly-flowers,
Spirit of roses, and of violets,
The milk of unicorns, and panthers' breath
Gathered in bags and mixed with Cretan wines
Our drink shall be prepared gold and amber,
Which we will take until my roof whirl round
With the vertigo; and my dwarf shall dance,
My eunuch sing, my fool make up the antic,
Whilst we, in changed shapes, act Ovid's tales,
Thou like Europa now, and I like Jove,
Then I like Mars and thou like Erycine:
So of the rest, till we have quite run through
And wearied all the fables of the gods
Then will I have thee in more modern forms,
Attired like some sprightly dame of France,
Brave Tuscan lady, or proud Spanish beauty;
Sometimes, unto the Persian Sophy's wife,
Or the Grand Signor's mistress; and, for change,
To one of our most artful courtesans,
Or some quick Negro, or cold Russian;
And I will meet thee in as many shapes:
Where we may so transfuse our wandering souls
Out at our lips, and score up sums of pleasures,
That the curious shall not know
How to tell them as they flow;
And the envious, when they find
What their number is, be pined
CELIA If you have ears that will be pierced; or eyes
That can be opened; a heart may be touched;
Or any part that yet sounds man about you;
If you have touch of holy saints, or heaven,
Do me the grace to let me 'scape. If not,
Be bountiful and kill me. You do know
I am a creature hither ill betrayed
By one whose shame I would forget it were
If you will deign me neither of these graces,
Yet feed your wrath, sir, rather than your lust
(It is a vice comes nearer manliness),
And punish that unhappy crime of nature,
Which you miscall my beauty; flay my face,
Or poison it with ointments for seducing
Your blood to this rebellion. Rub these hands
With what may cause an eating leprosy,
E'en to my bones and marrow: anything
That may disfavor me, save in my honor —
And I will kneel to you, pray for you, pay down
A thousand hourly vows, sir, for your health;
Report, and think you virtuous —
VOLPONE Think me cold,
Frozen, and impotent, and so report me?
That I had Nestor's hernia, thou wouldst think
I do degenerate, and abuse my nation,
To play with opportunity thus long;
I should have done the act, and then have parleyed
Yield, or I'll force thee
CELIA O! just God!
VOLPONE In vain —
BONARIO Forbear, foul ravisher! libidinous swine!
Free the forced lady, or thou diest, impostor!
But that I'm loath to snatch thy punishment
Out of the hand of justice, thou shouldst yet
Be made the timely sacrifice of vengeance
Before this altar, and this dross, thy idol.
Lady, let's quit the place, it is the den
Of villainy; fear nought, you have a guard:
And he ere long shall meet his just reward.
VOLPONE Fall on me, roof, and bury me in ruin!
Become my grave, that wert my shelter! O!
I am unmasked, unspirited, undone,
Betrayed to beggary, to infamy —
SCENE 8
MOSCA Where shall I run, most wretched shame of men,
To beat out my unlucky brains?
VOLPONE Here, here
What! dost thou bleed?
MOSCA O that his well-driven sword
Had been so courteous to have cleft me down
Unto the navel, ere I lived to see
My life, my hopes, my spirits, my patron, all
Thus desperately engaged, by my error!
VOLPONE Woe on thy fortune!
MOSCA And my follies, sir
VOLPONE Thou hast made me miserable
MOSCA And myself, sir
Who would have thought he would have hearkened so?
VOLPONE What shall we do?
MOSCA I know not; if my heart
Could expiate the mischance, I'd pluck it out
Will you be pleased to hang me? or cut my throat?
And I'll requite you, sir. Let's die like Romans,
Since we have lived like Grecians
VOLPONE Hark! who's there?
I hear some footing; officers, the Saffi,
Come to apprehend us! I do feel the brand
Hissing already at my forehead; now
Mine ears are boring
MOSCA To your couch, sir; you
Make that place good, however — Guilty men
Suspect what they deserve still. Signor Corbaccio!
SCENE 9
CORBACCIO Why, how now, Mosca?
MOSCA O, undone, amazed, sir
Your son, I know not by what accident,
Acquainted with your purpose to my patron
Touching your will, and making him your heir,
Entered our house with violence, his sword drawn,
Sought for you, called you wretch, unnatural,
Vowed he would kill you
CORBACCIO Me!
MOSCA Yes, and my patron
CORBACCIO This act shall disinherit him indeed:
Here is the will.
MOSCA 'Tis well, sir
CORBACCIO Right and well;
Be you as careful now for me
MOSCA My life, sir,
Is not more tendered; I am only yours
CORBACCIO How does he? Will he die shortly, think'st thou?
MOSCA I fear
He'll outlast May.
CORBACCIO Today?
MOSCA No, last out May, sir.
CORBACCIO Couldst thou not give him a dram?
MOSCA O, by no means, sir
CORBACCIO Nay, I'll not bid you
VOLTORE This is a knave, I see.
MOSCA How! Signor Voltore! Did he hear me?
VOLTORE Parasite!
MOSCA Who's that? O, sir, most timely welcome —
VOLTORE Scarce
To the discovery of your tricks, I fear
You are his, only? and mine also, are you not?
MOSCA Who? I, sir?
VOLTORE You, sir What device is this
About a will?
MOSCA A plot for you, sir
VOLTORE Come,
Put not your foists upon me; I shall scent them
MOSCA Did you not hear it?
VOLTORE Yes, I hear Corbaccio
Hath made your patron there his heir
MOSCA 'Tis true,
By my device, drawn to it by my plot,
With hope —
VOLTORE Your patron should reciprocate?
And you have promised?
MOSCA For your good, I did, sir
Nay more, I told his son, brought, hid him here,
Where he might hear his father pass the deed;
Being persuaded to it by this thought, sir,
That the unnaturalness, first, of the act,
And then his father's oft disclaiming in him
(Which I did mean t' help on), would sure enrage him
To do some violence upon his parent,
On which the law should take sufficient hold,
And you be stated in a double hope:
Truth be my comfort, and my conscience,
My only aim was to dig you a fortune
Out of these two old rotten sepulchres —
VOLTORE I cry thee mercy, Mosca
MOSCA Worth your patience,
And your great merit, sir. And see the change!
VOLTORE Why, what success?
MOSCA Most hapless! you must help, sir
Whilst we expected the old raven, in comes
Gorvino's wife, sent hither by her husband —
VOLTORE What, with a present?
MOSCA No, sir, on visitation
(I'll tell you how anon); and, staying long;
The youth he grows impatient, rushes forth,
Seizeth the lady, wounds me, makes her swear
(Or he would murder her, that was his vow)
To affirm my patron to have done her rape:
Which how unlike it is, you see! and hence,
With that pretext he's gone to accuse his father,
Defame my patron, defeat you —
VOLTORE Where's her husband?
Let him be sent for straight
MOSCA Sir, I'll go fetch him
VOLTORE Bring him to the Scrutineo
MOSCA Sir, I will
VOLTORE This must be stopped
MOSCA O, you do nobly, sir
Alas, 'twas labored all, sir, for your good;
Nor was there want of counsel in the plot:
But fortune can, at any time, o'erthrow
The projects of a hundred learned clerks, sir
CORBACCIO What's that?
VOLTORE Will 't please you, sir, to go along?
MOSCA Patron, go in, and pray for our success.
VOLPONE Need makes devotion: heaven your labor bless!
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