VOLPONE, OR THE fox. A Comedy. Acted in the year 1605. By the K. majesties SERVANTS.  
The Author B. I.  HORAT 
Simul & incunda, & idonea dicere vitae.  
LONDON, Printed by WILLIAM STANSBY.  
MDCXVI.   

TO THE MOST NOBLE AND MOST EQUAL SISTERS THE TWO FAMOUS universities FOR THEIR LOVE AND ACCEPTANCE SHOWN TO HIS poem IN THE PRESENTATION BEN JONSON THE GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGER DEDICATES BOTH IT AND HIMSELF.  
Never (most equal SISTERS) had any man a wit so presently excellent, as that it could raise itself; but there must come both matter, occasion, commenders, and favourers to it: If this be true, and that the fortune of all writers doth daily prove it, it behoves the careful to provide, well, toward these accidents; and, having acquired them, to preserve that part of reputation most tenderly, wherein the benefit of a friend is also defended. Hence is it, that I now render myself grateful, and am studious to justify the bounty of your act: to which, though your mere authority were satisfying, yet, it being an age, wherein Poetry, and the Professors of it hear so ill, on all sides, there will a reason be looked for in the subject. It is certain, nor can it with any forehead be opposed, that the too-much licence of Poetasters, in this time, hath much deformed their Mistress; that, every day, their manifold, and manifest ignorance, doth stick unnatural reproaches upon her: But for their petulancy, it were an act of the greatest injustice, either to let the learned suffer; or so divine a skill (which indeed should not be attempted with unclean hands) to fall, under the least contempt. For, if men will impartially, and not asquint, look toward the offices, and function of a Poet, they will easily conclude to themselves, the impossibility of any man's being the good Poet, without first being a good man. He that is said to be able to inform young men to all good disciplines, inflame grown men to all great virtues, keep old-men in their best and supreme state, or as they decline to childhood, recover them to their first strength; that comes forth the interpreter, and arbiter of nature, a teacher of things divine, no less than human, a master in manners; and can alone (or with a few) effect the business of mankind: this, I take him, is no subject for pride, and ignorance to exercise their railing rhetoric upon. But, it will here be hastily answered, that the writers of these days are other things; that, not only their manners, but their natures are inverted; and nothing remaining with them of the dignity of Poet, but the abused name, which every Scribe usurps: that now, especially in dramatic, or (as they term it) stage-poetry, nothing but ribaldry, profanation, blasphemy, all licence of offence to god, and man, is practised. I dare not deny a great part of this (and am sorry, I dare not) because in some men's abortive features (and would they had never boasted the light) it is over-true: But, that all are embarked in this bold adventure for hell, is a most uncharitable thought, and, uttered, a more malicious slander. For my particular, I can (and from a most clear conscience) affirm, that I have ever trembled to think toward the least profaneness; have loathed the use of such foul, and unwashed bawdry, as is now made the food of the scene: And, howsoever I cannot escape, from some, the imputation of sharpness, but that they will say, I have taken a pride, or lust, to be bitter, and not my youngest infant but hath come into the world with all his teeth; I would ask of these supercilious politics, what nation, society, or general order, or state I have provoked? what public person? whether I have not (in all these) preserved their dignity, as mine own person, safe? My works are read, allowed, (I speak of those that are entirely mine) look into them: What broad reproofs have I used? Where have I been particular? Where personal? except to a mimic, cheater, bawd, or buffoon, creatures (for their insolences) worthy to be taxed? Yet, to which of these so pointingly, as he might not, either ingenuously have confessed, or wisely dissembled his disease? But it is not rumour can make men guilty, much less entitle me, to other men's crimes. I know, that nothing can be so innocently writ, or carried, but may be made obnoxious to construction; marry, whilst I bear mine innocence about me, I fear it not. Application, is now, grown a trade with many; and there are, that profess to have a key for the deciphering of every thing: but let wise and noble persons take heed how they be too credulous, or give leave to these invading interpreters, to be over-familiar with their fames, who cunningly, and often, utter their own virulent malice, under other men's simplest meanings. As for those, that will (by faults which charity hath raked up, or common honesty concealed) make themselves a name with the multitude, or (to draw their rude, and beastly claps) care not whose living faces they entrench, with their petulant styles; may they do it, without a rival, for me: I choose rather to live graved in obscurity, then share with them, in so preposterous a fame. Nor can I blame the wishes of those severe, and wiser patriots, who providing the hurts these licentious spirits may do in a state, desire rather to see fools, and devils, and those antic relics of barbarism retrieved, with all other ridiculous, and exploded follies: then behold the wounds of private men, of princes, and nations. For, as HORACE makes TREBATIUS speak, among these 
— Sibi quisque timet, quanquam est intactus, & odit.  And men may justly impute such rages, if continued, to the writer, as his sports. The increase of which lust in liberty, together with the present trade of the stage, in all their miscellaneous interludes, what learned or liberal soul doth not already abhor? where nothing but the filth of the time is uttered, and that with such impropriety of phrase, such plenty of solecisms, such dearth of sense, so bold prolepses, so racked metaphors, with brothelry, able to violate the ear of a pagan, and blasphemy, to turn the blood of a christian to water. I cannot but be serious in a cause of this nature, wherein my fame, and the reputations of divers honest, and learned are the question; when a Name, so full of authority, antiquity, and all great mark, is (through their insolence) become the lowest scorn of the age: and those men subject to the petulancy of every vernaculous Orator, that were wont to be the care of Kings, and happiest Monarchs. This it is, that hath not only rapt me to present indignation, but made me studious, heretofore; and, by all my actions, to stand off, from them: which may most appear in this my latest work (which you, most learned ARBITRESSES, have seen, judged, and to my crown, approved) wherein I have laboured, for their instruction, and amendment, to reduce, not only the ancient forms, but manners of the scene, the easiness, the propriety, the innocence, and last the doctrine, which is the principal end of poesy, to inform men, in the best reason of living. And though my catastrophe may, in the strict rigour of comic law, meet with censure, as turning back to my promise; I desire the learned, and charitable critic to have so much faith in me, to think it was done off industry: For, with what ease I could have varied it, nearer his scale (but that I fear to boast my own faculty) I could here insert. But my special aim being to put the snaffle in their mouths, that cry out, we never punish vice in our interludes, etc. I took the more liberty; though not without some lines of example, drawn even in the ancients themselves, the goings out of whose comedies are not always joyful, but oft-times, the bawds, the servants, the rivals yea, and the masters are mulcted: and fitly, it being the office of a comic-poet, to imitate justice, and instruct to life, as well as purity of language, or stir up gentle affections. To which, I shall take the occasion elsewhere to speak. For the present (most reverenced SISTERS) as I have cared to be thankful for your affections past, and here made the understanding acquainted with some ground of your favours; let me not despair their continuance, to the maturing of some worthier fruits: wherein, if my MUSES be true to me, I shall raise the despised head of poetry again, and stripping her out of those rotten and base rags, wherewith the Times have adulterated her form, restore her to her primitive habit, feature, and majesty, and render her worthy to be embraced, and kissed, of all the great and master-spirits of our world. As for the vile, and slothful, who never affected an act, worthy of celebration, or are so inward with their own vicious natures, as they worthily fear her; and think it a high point of policy, to keep her in contempt with their declamatory, and windy invectives: she shall out of just rage incite her servants (who are genus iritabile) to spout ink in their faces, that shall eat, farther than their marrow, into their fames; and not CINNAMUS the barber, with his art, shall be able to take out the brands, but they shall live, and be read, till the wretches die, as things worst deserving of themselves in chief, and then of all mankind.   

The Persons of the Play.  

VOLPONE, a Magnifico.  
MOSCA, his Parasite.  
VOLTORE, an Advocate.  
CORBACCIO, an old Gentleman.  
CORVINO, a Merchant.  
AVOCATORI, four Magistrates  
NOTARIO, the Register.  
NANO, a Dwarf.  
CASTRONE, an Eunuch.  
GREGE.  
Politique WOULD-BEE, a Knight.  
PEREGRINE, a Gent. traveler.  
BONARIO, a young Gentleman.  
FINE MADAME WOULD-BEE, the knight's wife.  
CELIA, the Merchant's wife.  
COMMANDADORI, Officers.  
MERCATORI, three Merchants.  
ANDROGYNO, a Hermaphrodite.  
SERVITORE, a Servant.  
WOMEN.   
THE SCENE VENICE.   

VOLPONE, OR THE fox.  
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 th' other again, and all are sold.   

prologue.  
NOw, luck yet send us, and a little wit  
Will serve, to make our play hit;  
(According to the palates of the season)  
Here is rhyme, not empty of reason:  
This we were bid to credit, from our Poet,  
Whose true scope, if you would know it,  
In all his poems, still, hath been this measure,  
To mix profit, with your pleasure;  
And not as some (whose throats their envy failing)  
Cry hoarsely, all he writes, is railing:  
And, when his plays come forth, think they can flout them,  
With saying, he was a year about them.  
To these there needs no lie, but this his creature,  
Which was, two months since, no feature;  
And, though he dares give them five lives to mend it,  
'Tis known, five weeks fully penned it:  
From his own hand, without a coadjutor,  
Novice, journeyman, or tutor.  
Yet, thus much I can give you, as a token  
Of his plays worth, no eggs are broken;  
Nor quaking custards with fierce teeth affrighted,  
Wherewith your rout are so delighted;  
Nor hales he in a gull, old ends reciting,  
To stop gaps in his loose writing;  
With such a deal of monstrous, and forced action:  
As might make bedlam a faction:  
Nor made he his play, for jests, stolen from each table,  
But makes jests, to fit his fable.  
And, so presents quick comedy, refined,  
As best Critics have designed,  
The laws of time, place, persons he observeth,  
From no needful rule he swerveth.  
All gall, and coppresse, from his ink, he draineth,  
Only, a little salt remaineth;  
Wherewith, he'll rub your cheeks, till (red with laughter)  
They shall look fresh, a week after.   


Act I. Scene I.  VOLPONE, MOSCA. 
GOod morning to the day; and, next, my gold:  
Open the shrine, that I may see my saint.  
Hail the world's soul, and mine. More glad than is  
The teeming earth, to see the longed-for sun  
Peep through the horns of the celestial ram,  
Am I, to view thy splendour, darkening his:  
That, lying here, amongst my other hoards,  
show'st like a flame, by night; or like the day  
Struck out of chaos, when all darkness fled  
Unto the centre. O, thou son of SOL,  
(But brighter than thy father) let me kiss,  
With adoration, thee, and every relic  
Of sacred treasure, in this blessed room.  
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 style of joy, in children, parents, friends,  
Or any other waking dream on earth.  
Thy looks, when they to VENUS did ascribe,  
They should have given her twenty thousand CUPIDS;  
Such are thy beauties, and our loves! Dear saint,  
Riches, the dumb god, that giv'st all men tongues:  
That canst do nought, and yet mak'st men do all things;  
The price of souls; even hell, with thee to boot,  
Is made worth heaven! Thou art virtue, fame,  
Honour, and all things else! Who can get thee,  
He shall be noble, valiant, honest, wise—  MOS. 
And what he will, sir. Riches are in fortune  
A greater good, than wisdom is in nature.  VOL. 
True, my beloved MOSCA. Yet, I glory  
More in the cunning purchase of my wealth,  
Then in the glad possession; since I gain  
No common way: I use no trade, no venture;  
I wound no earth with plowshares; fat no beasts  
To feed the shambles; have no mills for iron,  
Oil, corn, or men, to grind 'em into powder;  
I blow no subtle glass; expose no ships  
To threatenings of the furrow-faced sea;  
I turn no moneys, in the public bank;  
Nor usure private—  MOS. 
No, sir, nor devour  
Soft prodigals. You shall ha' some will swallow  
A melting heir, as glibly, as your Dutch  
Will pills of butter, and ne'er purge for't;  
Tear forth the fathers of poor families  
Out of their beds, and coffin them, alive,  
In some kind, clasping prison, where their bones  
May be forthcoming, when the flesh is rotten:  
But, your sweet nature doth abhor these courses;  
You loath, the widows, or the orphans tears  
Should wash your pavements; or their piteous cries  
Ring in your roofs; and beat the air, for vengeance.—  VOL. 
Right, MOSCA, I do loath it.  MOS. 
And besides, sir,  
You are not like the thresher, that doth stand  
With a huge flail, watching a heap of corn,  
And, hungry, dares not taste the smallest grain,  
But feeds on mallows, and such bitter herbs;  
Nor like the merchant, who hath filled his vaults  
With Romagnia, and rich Candian wines,  
Yet drinks the lees of Lombard's vinegar:  
You will not lie in straw, whilst moths, and worms  
Feed on your sumptuous hangings, and soft beds.  
You know the use of riches, and dare give, now,  
From that bright heap, to me, your poor observer,  
Or to your dwarf, or your hermaphrodite,  
Your eunuch, or what other household-trifle  
Your pleasure allows maintenance.—  VOL. 
Hold thee, MOSCA,  
Take, of my hand; thou strik'st on truth, in all:  
And they are envious, term thee parasite.  
Call forth my dwarf, my eunuch, and my fool,  
And let 'em make me sport. What should I do,  
But cocker up my genius, and live free  
To all delights, my fortune calls me to?  
I have no wife, no parent, child, ally,  
To give my substance to; but whom I make,  
Must be my heir: and this makes men observe me.  
This draws new clients, daily, to my house,  
Women, and men, of every sex, and age,  
That bring me presents, send me plate, coin, jewels,  
With hope, that when I die, (which they expect  
Each greedy minute) it shall then return,  
Tenfold, upon them; whilst some, covetous  
Above the rest, seek to engross me, whole,  
And counter work, the one, unto the other,  
Contend in gifts, as they would seem, in love:  
All which I suffer, playing with their hopes,  
And am content to coin 'em into profit,  
And look upon their kindness, and take more,  
And look on that; still bearing them in hand,  
Letting the cherry knock against their lips,  
And, draw it, by their mouths, and back again. How now!   

Act I. Scene II.  NANO, ANDROGYNO, CASTRONE, VOLPONE, MOSCA. 
NOw, room, for fresh gamesters, who do will you to know,  
They do bring you neither play, nor University show;  
And therefore do entreat you, that whatsoever they rehearse,  
May not fare a whit the worse, for the false pace of the verse.  
If you wonder at this, you will wonder more, ere we pass,  
For know, here is enclosed the Soul of PYTHAGORAS,  
That juggler divine, as hereafter shall follow;  
Which Soul (fast, and loose, sir) came first from APOLLO,  
And was breathed into AETHALIDES, MERCURIUS his son,  
Where it had the gift to remember all that ever was done.  
From thence it fled forth, and made quick transmigration  
To goldy-locked EUPHORBUS, who was killed, in good fashion,  
At the siege of old Troy, by the Cuckold of Sparta.  
HERMOTIMUS was next (I find it, in my charta)  
To whom it did pass, where no sooner it was missing,  
But with one PYRRHUS, of Delos, it learned to go a fishing:  
And thence, did it enter the Sophist of Greece.  
From PYTHAGORE, she went into a beautiful piece,  
Hight ASPASIA, the meretrix; and the next toss of her  
Was, again, of a whore, she became a Philosopher,  
CRATES the Cynic: (as itself doth relate it)  
Since, Kings, Knights, and Beggars, Knaves, Lords and Fools got it,  
Besides, ox, and ass, camel, mule, goat, and brock,  
In all which it hath spoke, as in the cobblers cock.  
But I come not here, to discourse of that matter,  
Or his one, two, or three, or his great oath, by quater,  
His musics, his trigon, his golden thigh,  
Or his telling how elements shift: but I  
Would ask, how of late, thou hast suffered translation,  
And shifted thy coat, in these days of reformation?  AND. 
Like one of the reformed, a Fool, as you see,  
Counting all old doctrine heresy.  NAN. 
But not on thine own forbid meats hast thou ventured?  AND. 
On fish, when first, a carthusian I entered.  NAN. 
Why, than thy dogmatical silence hath left thee?  AND. 
Of that an obstreperous Lawyer bereft me.  NAN. 
O wonderful change! when Sir Lawyer forsook thee,  
For Pythagoras' sake, what body then took thee?  AND. 
A good dull moil.  NAN. 
And how! by that means,  
Thou wert brought to allow of the eating of beans?  AND. 
Yes.  NAN. 
But, from the moil, into whom didst thou pass?  AND. 
Into a very strange beast, by some writers called an ass,  
By others, a precise, pure, illuminate brother,  
Of those devour flesh, and sometimes one another:  
And will drop you forth a libel, or a sanctified lie,  
Betwixt every spoonful of a nativitie-pie.  NAN. 
Now quit thee, for heaven, of that profane nation;  
And gently, report thy next transmigration.  AND. 
To the same that I am.  NAN. 
A creature of delight?  
And (what is more than a Fool) an hermaphrodite?  
Now pray thee, sweet Soul, in all thy variation,  
Which body wouldst thou choose, to take up thy station?  AND. 
Troth, this I am in, even here would I tarry.  NAN. 
'Cause here, the delight of each sex thou canst vary?  AND. 
Alas, those pleasures be stale, and forsaken;  
No, 'tis your Fool, wherewith I am so taken,  
The only one creature, that I can call blessed:  
For all other forms I have proved most distressed.  NAN. 
Spoke true, as thou wert in Pythagoras' still.  
This learned opinion we celebrate will,  
Fellow eunuch (as behooves us) with all our wit, and art,  
To dignify that, whereof ourselves are so great, and special a part.  VOL. 
Now very, very pretty: MOSCA, this  
Was thy invention?  MOS. 
If it please my patron,  
Not else.  VOL. 
It doth, good MOSCA.  MOS. 
Then it was, sir.  SONG. 
fools, they are the only nation  
Worth men's envy, or admiration;  
Free from care, or sorrow-taking,  
Selves, and others merry-making:  
All they speak, or do, is sterling.  
Your Fool, he is your great man's darling,  
And your Lady's sport, and pleasure;  
Tongue, and babble are his treasure.  
e'en his face begetteth laughter,  
And he speaks truth, free from slaughter;  
he's the grace of every feast,  
And, sometimes, the chiefest guest:  
Hath his trencher, and his stool,  
When wit waits upon the fool.  
O, who would not be  
He, he, he?  VOL. 
One knocks without. Who's that? away, look MOSCA.  MOS. 
Fool, begone,  
'Tis signor VOLTORE, the Advocate,  
I know him, by his knock.  VOL. 
Fetch me my gown,  
My furs and nightcaps; say, my couch is changing:  
And let him entertain himself, awhile,  
Without i' th' gallery. Now, now, my clients  
Begin their visitation! vulture, kite,  
Raven, and gor-crow, all my birds of prey,  
That think me turning carcase, now they come:  
I am not for 'em yet. How now? the news?  MOS. 
A piece of plate, sir.  VOL. 
Of what bigness?  MOS. 
Huge,  
Massy, and antic, with your name inscribed,  
And arms engraven.  VOL. 
Good! and not a fox  
Stretched on the earth, with fine delusive sleights,  
Mocking a gaping crow? ha, MOSCA?  MOS. 
Sharp, sir.  VOL. 
Give me my furs. Why dost thou laugh so, man?  MOS. 
I cannot choose, sir, when I apprehend  
What thoughts he has (without) now, as he walks:  
That this might be the last gift, he should give;  
That this would fetch you; if you died today,  
And gave him all, what he should be tomorrow;  
What large return would come of all his venters;  
How he should worshipped be, and reverenced;  
Ride, with his furs, and foot-cloths; waited on  
By herds of fools, and clients; have clear way  
Made for his moil, as lettered as himself;  
Be called the great, and learned Advocate:  
And then concludes, there's nought impossible.  VOL. 
Yes, to be learned, MOSCA.  MOS. 
O, no: rich  
Implies it. Hood an ass, with reverend purple,  
So you can hide his two ambitious ears,  
And, he shall pass for a cathedral Doctor.  VOL. 
My caps, my caps, good MOSCA, fetch him in.  MOS. 
Stay, sir, your ointment for your eyes.  VOL. 
That's true;  
Dispatch, dispatch: I long to have possession  
Of my new present.  MOS. 
That, and thousands more,  
I hope, to see you lord of.  VOL. 
Thanks, kind MOSCA.  MOS. 
And that, when I am lost in blended dust,  
And hundred such, as I am, in succession—  VOL. 
Nay, that were too much, MOSCA.  MOS. 
You shall live,  
Still, to delude these harpies.  VOL. 
Loving MOSCA,  
'Tis well, my pillow now, and let him enter.  
Now, my feigned cough, my phthisic, and my gout,  
My apoplexy, palsy, and catarrhs,  
Help, with your forced functions, this my posture,  
Wherein, this three year, I have milked their hopes.  
He comes, I hear him (vh, vh, vh, vh) Ô.   

Act I. Scene III.  MOSCA, VOLTORE, VOLPONE. 
YOu still are, what you were, sir. Only you  
(Of all the rest) are he, commands his love:  
And you do wisely, to preserve it, thus,  
With early visitation, and kind notes  
Of your good meaning to him, which, I know,  
Cannot but come most grateful. Patron, sir.  
Here's signor VOLTORE is come—  VOLP. 
What say you?  MOS. 
Sir, signor VOLTORE is come, this morning,  
To visit you.  VOLP. 
I thank him.  MOS. 
And hath brought  
A piece of antic plate, bought of S. Mark,  
With which he here presents you.  VOLP. 
He is welcome.  
Pray him, to come more often.  MOS. 
Yes.  VOLT. 
What says he?  MOS. 
He thanks you, and desires you see him often.  VOLP. 
MOSCA.  MOS. 
My patron?  VOLP. 
Bring him near, where is he?  
I long to feel his hand.  MOS. 
The plate is here, sir.  VOLT. 
How fare you, sir?  VOLP. 
I thank you, signor VOLTORE.  
Where is the plate? mine eyes are bad.  VOLT. 
I'm sorry,  
To see you still thus weak.  MOS. 
That he is not weaker.  VOLP. 
You are too munificent.  VOLT. 
No, sir, would to heaven,  
I could as well give health to you, as that plate.  VOLP. 
You give, sir, what you can. I thank you. Your love  
Hath taste in this, and shall not be unanswered.  
I pray you see me often.  VOLT. 
Yes, I shall, sir.  VOLP. 
Be not far from me.  MOS. 
Do you observe that, sir?  VOLP. 
hearken unto me, still: It will concern you.  MOS. 
You are a happy man, sir, know your good.  VOLP. 
I cannot now last long—  (MOS. 
You are his heir, sir.  VOLT. 
Am I?)  VOLP. 
I feel me going, (vh, vh, vh, vh.)  
I am sailing to my port, (vh, vh, vh, vh?)  
And I am glad, I am so near my haven.  MOS. 
Alas, kind gentleman, well, we must all go—  VOLT. 
But, MOSCA—  MOS. 
Age will conquer.  VOLT. 
Pray thee hear me.  
Am I inscribed his heir, for certain?  MOS. 
Are you?  
I do beseech you, sir, you will vouchsafe  
To write me, i' your family. All my hopes,  
Depend upon your worship. I am lost,  
Except the rising sun do shine on me.  VOLT. 
It shall both shine, and warm thee, MOSCA.  MOS. 
Sir.  
I am a man, that have not done your love  
All the worst offices: here I wear your keys,  
See all your coffers, and your caskets locked,  
Keep the poor inventory of your jewels,  
Your plate, and moneys, am your steward, sir,  
Husband your goods here.  VOLT. 
But am I sole heir?  MOS. 
Without a partner, sir, confirmed this morning;  
The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry  
Upon the parchment.  VOLT. 
Happy, happy, me!  
By what good chance, sweet MOSCA?  MOS. 
Your desert, sir;  
I know no second cause.  VOLT. 
Thy modesty  
Is loath to know it; well, we shall requite it.  MOS. 
He ever liked your course, sir, that first took him.  
ay, oft, have heard him say, how he admired  
Men of your large profession, that could speak  
To every cause, and things mere contraries,  
Till they were hoarse again, yet all be law;  
That, with most quick agility, could turn,  
And return; make knots, and undo them;  
Give forked counsel; take provoking gold  
On either hand, and put it up: these men,  
He knew, would thrive, with their humility.  
And (for his part) he thought, he should be blessed  
To have his heir of such a suffering spirit,  
So wise, so grave, of so perplexed a tongue,  
And loud withal, that would not wag, nor scarce  
Lie still, without a fee; when every word  
Your worship but lets fall, is a chequeen!  
Who's that? Another knocks. one knocks, I would not have you seen, sir.  
And yet— pretend you came, and went in haste;  
I'll fashion an excuse. And, gentle sir,  
When you do come to swim, in golden lard,  
up to the arms, in honey, that your chin  
Is borne up stiff, with fatness of the flood,  
Think on your vassal; but remember me:  
I ha' not been your worst of clients.  VOLT. 
MOSCA—  MOS. 
When will you have your inventory brought, sir?  
Or see a copy of the will? (anon)  
I'll bring 'em to you, sir. Away, be gone,  
Put business i' your face.  VOLP. 
Excellent, MOSCA!  
Come hither, let me kiss thee.  MOS. 
Keep you still, sir.  
Here is CORBACCIO.  VOLP. 
Set the plate away,  
The vulture's gone, and the old raven's come.   

Act I. Scene IIII.  MOSCA, CORBACCIO, VOLPONE. 
BEtake you, to your silence, and your sleep:  
Stand there, and multiply. Now, shall we see  
A wretch, who is (indeed) more impotent,  
Than this can feign to be; yet hopes to hop  
Over his grave. signor CORBACCIO!  
Yo' are very welcome, sir.  CORB. 
How does your patron?  MOS. 
Troth, as he did, sir, no amends.  CORB. 
What? mends he?  MOS. 
No, sir: he is rather worse.  CORB. 
That's well. Where is he?  MOS. 
Upon his couch, sir, newly fallen asleep.  CORB. 
does he sleep well?  MOS. 
No wink, sir, all this night,  
Nor yesterday, but slumbers.  CORB. 
Good! He should take  
Some counsel of physicians: I have brought him  
An opiate here, from mine own Doctor—  MOS. 
He will not hear of drugs.  CORB. 
Why? I myself  
Stood by, while 't was made; saw all th'ingredients:  
And know, it cannot but most gently work.  
My life for his, 'tis but to make him sleep.  VOLP. 
ay, his last sleep, if he would take it.  MOS. 
Sir,  
He has no faith in physic.  CORB. 
say you? say you?  MOS. 
He has no faith in physic: he does think,  
Most of your Doctors are the greater danger,  
And worse disease, t' escape. I often have  
Heard him protest, that your physician  
Should never be his heir.  CORB. 
Not I his heir?  MOS. 
Not your physician, sir.  CORB. 
O, no, no, no,  
I do not mean it.  MOS. 
No, sir, nor their fees  
He cannot brook: he says, they flay a man,  
Before they kill him.  CORB. 
Right, I do conceive you.  MOS. 
And then, they do it by experiment;  
For which the law not only doth absolve 'em,  
But gives them great reward: and, he is loath  
To hire his death, so.  CORB. 
It is true, they kill,  
With as much licence, as a judge.  MOS. 
Nay, more;  
For he but kills, sir, where the law condemns,  
And these can kill him, too.  CORB. 
ay, or me:  
Or any man. How does his apoplex?  
Is that strong on him, still?  MOS. 
Most violent.  
His speech is broken, and his eyes are set,  
His face drawn longer, than 't was wont—  CORB. 
How? how?  
Stronger, than he was wont?  MOS. 
No, sir: his face  
Drawn longer, than 't was wont.  CORB. 
O, good.  MOS. 
His mouth  
Is ever gaping, and his eyelids hang.  CORB. 
Good.  MOS. 
A freezing numbness stiffens all his joints,  
And makes the colour of his flesh like lead.  CORB. 
'Tis good.  MOS. 
His pulse beats slow, and dull.  CORB. 
Good symptoms, still.  MOS. 
And, from his brain—  CORB. 
Ha? how? not from his brain?  MOS. 
Yes, sir, and from his brain—  (CORB. 
I conceive you, good.)  MOS. 
Flows a cold sweat, with a continual rheum,  
Forth the resolved corners of his eyes.  CORB. 
Is't possible? yet I am better, ha!  
How does he, with the swimming of his head?  MOS. 
O, sir, 'tis past, the scotomy; he, now,  
Hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort:  
You hardly can perceive him, that he breathes.  CORB. 
Excellent, excellent, sure I shall outlast him:  
This makes me young again, a score of years.  MOS. 
I was a coming for you, sir.  CORB. 
Has he made his will?  
What has he given me?  MOS. 
No, sir.  CORB. 
Nothing? ha?  MOS. 
He has not made his will, sir.  CORB. 
Oh, oh, oh.  
What then did VOLTORE, the Lawyer, here?  MOS. 
He smelled a carcase, sir, when he but heard  
My master was about his testament;  
(As I did urge him to it, for your good—)  CORB. 
He came unto him, did he? I thought so.  MOS. 
Yes, and presented him this piece of plate.  CORB. 
To be his heir?  MOS. 
I do not know, sir.  CORB. 
True,  
I know it too.  MOS. 
By your own scale, sir.  CORB. 
Well,  
I shall prevent him, yet. See, MOSCA, look,  
Here, I have brought a bag of bright cecchines,  
Will quite weigh down his plate.  MOS. 
Yea, marry, sir!  
This is true physic, this your sacred medicine,  
No talk of opiates, to this great elixir.  CORB. 
'Tis aurum palpabile, if not potabile.  MOS. 
It shall be ministered to him, in his bowl?  CORB. 
ay, do, do, do.  MOS. 
Most blessed cordial!  
This will recover him.  CORB. 
Yes, do, do, do.  MOS. 
I think, it were not best, sir.  CORB. 
What?  MOS. 
To recover him.  CORB. 
O, no, no, no; by no means.  MOS. 
Why, sir, this  
Will work some strange effect, if he but feel it.  CORB. 
'Tis true, therefore forbear, I'll take my venture:  
Give me't again.  MOS. 
At no hand, pardon me;  
You shall not do yourself that wrong, sir. I  
Will so advise you, you shall have it all.  CORB. 
How?  MOS. 
All, sir, 'tis your right, your own; no man  
Can claim a part: 'tis yours, without a rival,  
Decreed by destiny.  CORB. 
How? how, good MOSCA?  MOS. 
I'll tell you, sir. This fit he shall recover—  CORB. 
I do conceive you.  MOS. 
And, on first advantage  
Of his gained sense, will I re-importune him  
Unto the making of his testament:  
And show him this.  CORB. 
Good, good.  MOS. 
'Tis better yet,  
If you will hear, sir.  CORB. 
Yes, with all my heart.  MOS. 
Now, would I counsel you, make home with speed;  
There, frame a will: whereto you shall inscribe  
My master your sole heir.  CORB. 
And disinherit  
My son?  MOS. 
O, sir, the better: for that colour  
Shall make it much more taking.  CORB. 
O, but colour?  MOS. 
This will, sir, you shall send it unto me.  
Now, when I come to enforce (as I will do)  
Your cares, your watchings, and your many prayers,  
Your more than many gifts, your this days present,  
And, last, produce your will; where (without thought,  
Or least regard, unto your proper issue,  
A son so brave, and highly meriting)  
The stream of your diverted love hath thrown you  
Upon my master, and made him your heir:  
He cannot be so stupid, or stone dead,  
But, out of conscience, and mere gratitude—  CORB. 
He must pronounce me, his?  MOS. 
'Tis true.  CORB. 
This plot  
Did I think on before.  MOS. 
I do believe it.  CORB. 
Do you not believe it?  MOS. 
Yes, sir.  CORB. 
Mine own project.  MOS. 
Which when he hath done, sir—  CORB. 
Published me his heir?  MOS. 
And you so certain, to survive him—  CORB. 
I.  MOS. 
Being so lusty a man—  CORB. 
'Tis true.  MOS. 
Yes, sir—  CORB. 
I thought on that too. See, how he should be  
The very organ, to express my thoughts!  MOS. 
You have not only done yourself a good—  CORB. 
But multiplied it on my son?  MOS. 
'Tis right, sir.  CORB. 
Still, my invention.  MOS. 
'las sir, heaven knows,  
It hath been all my study, all my care,  
(I'e'en grow grey withal) how to work things—  CORB. 
I do conceive, sweet MOSCA.  MOS. 
You are he,  
For whom I labour, here.  CORB. 
ay, do, do, do:  
I'll straight about it.  MOS. 
rook go with you, raven.  CORB. 
I know thee honest.  MOS. 
You do lie, sir—  CORB. 
And—  MOS. 
Your knowledge is no better than your ears, sir.  CORB. 
I do not doubt, to be a father to thee.  MOS. 
Nor I, to gull my brother of his blessing.  CORB. 
I may ha' my youth restored to me, why not?  MOS. 
Your worship is a precious ass—  CORB. 
What sayst thou?  MOS. 
I do desire your worship, to make haste, sir.  CORB. 
'Tis done, 'tis done, I go.  VOLP. 
O, I shall burst;  
Let out my sides, let out my sides—  MOS. 
Contain  
Your flux of laughter, sir: you know, this hope  
Is such a bait, it covers any hook.  VOLP. 
O, but thy working, and thy placing it!  
I cannot hold; good rascal, let me kiss thee:  
I never knew thee, in so rare a humour.  MOS. 
Alas, sir, I but do, as I am taught;  
Follow your grave instructions; give 'em words;  
power oil into their ears: and send them hence.  VOLP. 
'Tis true, 'tis true. What a rare punishment  
Is avarice, to itself?  MOS. 
ay, with our help, sir.  VOLP. 
So many cares, so many maladies,  
So many fears attending on old age,  
Yea, death so often called on, as no wish  
Can be more frequent with 'em, their limbs faint,  
Their senses dull, their seeing, hearing, going,  
All dead before them; yea, their very teeth,  
Their instruments of eating, failing them:  
Yet this is reckoned life! Nay, here was one,  
Is now gone home, that wishes to live longer!  
Feels not his gout, nor palsy, feigns himself  
Younger, by scores of years, flatters his age,  
With confident belying it, hopes he may  
With charms, like AESON, have his youth restored:  
And with these thoughts so battens, as if fate  
Would be as easily cheated on, as he,  
And all turns air! Another knocks. Who's that, there, now? a third?  MOS. 
Close, to your couch again: I hear his voice.  
It is CORVINO, our spruce Merchant.  VOLP. 
Dead.  MOS. 
Another bout, sir, with your eyes. Who's there?   

Act I. Scene V.  MOSCA, CORVINO, VOLPONE. 
signor CORVINO! come most wished for! O,  
How happy were you, if you knew it, now!  CORV. 
Why? what? wherein?  MOS. 
The tardy hour is come, sir.  CORV. 
He is not dead?  MOS. 
Not dead, sir, but as good;  
He knows no man.  CORV. 
How shall I do, then?  MOS. 
Why, sir?  CORV. 
I have brought him, here, a pearl.  MOS. 
Perhaps, he has  
So much remembrance left, as to know you, sir;  
He still calls on you, nothing but your name  
Is in his mouth: Is your pearl orient, sir?  CORV. 
Venice was never owner of the like.  VOLP. 
signor CORVINO.  MOS. 
Hark.  VOLP. 
signor CORVINO.  MOS. 
He calls you, step and give it him. he's here, sir,  
And he has brought you a rich pearl.  CORV. 
How do you, sir?  
Tell him, it doubles the twelve carat.  MOS. 
Sir,  
He cannot understand, his hearing's gone;  
And yet it comforts him, to see you—  CORV. 
Say,  
I have a diamant for him, too.  MOS. 
Best show't, sir,  
Put it into his hand; 'tis only there  
He apprehends: he has his feeling, yet.  
See, how he grasps it!  CORV. 
'las, good gentleman!  
How pitiful the sight is!  MOS. 
Tut, forget, sir.  
The weeping of an heir should still be laughter,  
Under a visor.  CORV. 
Why? am I his heir?  MOS. 
Sir, I am sworn, I may not show the will,  
Till he be dead: But, here has been CORBACCIO,  
Here has been VOLTORE, here were others too,  
I cannot number 'em, they were so many,  
All gaping here for legacies; but I,  
Taking the vantage of his naming you,  
(signor CORVINO, signor CORVINO) took  
Paper, and pen, and ink, and there I asked him,  
Whom he would have his heir? CORVINO. Who  
Should be executor? CORVINO. And,  
To any question, he was silent too,  
I still interpreted the nods, he made  
(Through weakness) for consent: and sent home th'others,  
Nothing bequeathed them, but to cry, and curse.  CORV. 
They embrace. O, my dear MOSCA. does he not perceive us?  MOS. 
No more than a blind harper. He knows no man,  
No face of friend, nor name of any servant,  
who't was that fed him last, or gave him drink:  
Not those, he hath begotten, or brought up  
Can he remember.  CORV. 
Has he children?  MOS. 
Bastards,  
Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars,  
Gipseys, and Jews, and blackmoors, when he was drunk.  
Knew you not that, sir? 'Tis the common fable.  
The Dwarf, the Fool, the Eunuch are all his;  
he's the true father of his family,  
In all, save me: but he has given 'em nothing.  CORV. 
That's well, that's well. Art sure he does not hear us?  MOS. 
Sure, sir? why, look you, credit your own sense.  
The pox approach, and add to your diseases,  
If it would send you hence the sooner, sir.  
For, your incontinence, it hath deserved it  
Thoroughly, and thoroughly, and the plague to boot.  
(You may come near, sir) would you would once close  
Those filthy eyes of yours, that slow with slime,  
Like two frog-pits; and those same hanging cheeks,  
Covered with hide, in stead of skin: (nay, help, sir)  
That look like frozen dishclouts, set on end.  CORV. 
Or, like an old smoked wall, on which the rain  
Ran down in streaks.  MOS. 
Excellent, sir, speak out;  
You may be louder yet: a culvering,  
Discharged in his ear, would hardly bore it.  CORV. 
His nose is like a common sewer, still running.  MOS. 
'Tis good! and, what his mouth?  CORV. 
A very draft.  MOS. 
O, stop it up—  CORV. 
By no means.  MOS. 
Pray you let me.  
Faith, I could stifle him, rarely, with a pillow,  
As well, as any woman, that should keep him.  CORV. 
Do as you will, but I'll be gone.  MOS. 
Be so;  
It is your presence makes him last so long.  CORV. 
I pray you, use no violence.  MOS. 
No, sir? why?  
Why should you be thus scrupulous? pray you, sir.  CORV. 
Nay, at your discretion.  MOS. 
Well, good sir, be gone.  CORV. 
I will not trouble him now, to take my pearl?  MOS. 
Puh, nor your diamant. What a needless care  
Is this afflicts you? Is not all, here, yours?  
Am not I here? whom you have made? your creature?  
That owe my being to you?  CORV. 
Grateful MOSCA!  
Thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion,  
My partner, and shalt share in all my fortunes.  MOS. 
Excepting one.  CORV. 
What's that?  MOS. 
Your gallant wife, sir.  
Now, is he gone: we had no other means,  
To shoot him hence, but this.  VOLP. 
My divine MOSCA!  
Thou hast today outgone thyself. Another knocks. Who's there?  
I will be troubled with no more. Prepare  
Me music, dances, banquets, all delights;  
The Turk is not more sensual, in his pleasures,  
Then will VOLPONE. Let me see, a pearl?  
A diamant? plate? cecchines? good morning's purchase;  
Why, this is better than rob churches, yet:  
Or fat, by eating (once a month) a man.  
Who is't?  MOS. 
The beauteous lady WOULD-BEE, sir.  
Wife, to the English Knight, Sir Politique WOULD-BEE,  
(This is the style, sir, is directed me)  
Hath sent to know, how you have slept tonight,  
And if you would be visited.  VOLP. 
Not, now.  
Some three hours, hence—  MOS. 
I told the Squire, so much.  VOLP. 
When I am high with mirth, and wine: then, then.  
'Fore heaven, I wonder at the desperate valour  
Of the bold English, that they dare let lose  
Their wives, to all encounters!  MOS. 
Sir, this knight  
Had not his name for nothing, he is politic,  
And knows, howe'er his wife affect strange airs,  
She hath not yet the face, to be dishonest.  
But, had she signor CORVINO'S wives face—  VOLP. 
Has she so rare a face?  MOS. 
O, sir, the wonder,  
The blazing star of italy! a wench  
O' the first year! a beauty, ripe, as harvest!  
Whose skin is whiter than a swan, all over!  
Then silver, snow, or lilies! a soft lip,  
Would tempt you to eternity of kissing!  
And flesh, that melteth, in the touch, to blood!  
Bright as your gold! and lovely, as your gold!  VOLP. 
Why had not I known this, before?  MOS. 
Alas, sir.  
myself, but yesterday, discovered it.  VOLP. 
How might I see her?  MOS. 
O, not possible;  
she's kept as warily, as is your gold:  
Never does come abroad, never takes air,  
But at a window. All her looks are sweet,  
As the first grapes, or cherries: and are watched  
As near, as they are.  VOLP. 
I must see her—  MOS. 
Sir.  
There is a guard, of ten spies thick, upon her;  
All his whole household: each of which is set  
Upon his fellow, and have all their charge,  
When he goes out, when he comes in, examined.  VOLP. 
I will go see her, though but at her window.  MOS. 
In some disguise, then.  VOLP. 
That is true. I must  
Maintain mine own shape, still, the same: we'll think.    


Act II. Scene I.  POLITIQVE WOULD-BEE, PEREGRINE. 
SIr, to a wise man, all the world's his soil.  
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 disaffection to the state  
Where I was bred (and, unto which I owe  
My dearest plots) hath brought me out; much less,  
That idle, antic, stale, grey-headed project  
Of knowing men's minds, and manners, with Ulysses:  
But, a peculiar humour of my wives,  
Laid for this height of Venice, to observe,  
To quote, to learn the language, and so forth—  
I hope you travel, sir, with licence?  PER. 
Yes.  POL. 
I dare the safelier converse— How long, sir,  
Since you left England?  PER. 
Seven weeks.  POL. 
So lately!  
You ha' not been with my lord Ambassador?  PER. 
Not yet, sir.  POL. 
Pray you, what news, sir, vents our climate?  
I heard, last night, a most strange thing reported  
By some of my lords followers, and I long  
To hear, how't will be seconded!  PER. 
What was't, sir?  POL. 
marry, sir, of a raven, that should build  
In a ship royal of the Kings.  PER. 
This fellow  
does he gull me, trow? or is gulled? your name, sir?  POL. 
My name is Politique WOULD-BEE.  PER. 
O, that speaks him.  
A Knight, sir?  POL. 
A poor knight, sir.  PER. 
Your lady  
Lies here, in Venice, for intelligence  
Of tires and fashions, and behaviour,  
Among the courtesans? the fine lady WOULD-BEE?  POL. 
Yes, sir, the spider, and the Bee, oft-times,  
Suck from one flower.  PER. 
Good sir Politique!  
I cry you mercy; I have heard much of you:  
'Tis true, sir of your raven.  POL. 
On your knowledge?  PER. 
Yes, and your lions whelping, in the Tower.  POL. 
Another whelp!  PER. 
Another, sir.  POL. 
Now, heaven!  
What prodigies be these? The fires at Berwick!  
And the new star! these things concurring, strange!  
And full of omen! Saw you those meteors?  PER. 
I did, sir.  POL. 
Fearful! Pray you sir, confirm me,  
Were there three porpoises seen, above the bridge,  
As they give out?  PER. 
six, and and a sturgeon, sir.  POL. 
I am astonished!  PER. 
Nay, sir, be not so;  
I'll tell you a greater prodigy, than these—  POL. 
What should these things portend!  PER. 
The very day  
(Let me be sure) that I put forth from London,  
There was a whale discovered, in the river,  
As high as Woolwich, that had waited there  
(Few know how many months) for the subversion  
Of the Stode-Fleet.  POL. 
Is't possible? Believe it,  
'Twas either sent from Spain, or the Archdukes!  
SPINOLA'S whale, upon my life, my credit!  
Will they not leave these projects? Worthy sir,  
Some other news.  PER. 
Faith, STONE, the fool, is dead;  
And they do lack a tavern-fool, extremely.  POL. 
Is MASS' STONE dead!  PER. 
he's dead, sir, why? I hope  
You thought him not immortal? O, this Knight  
(Where he well known) would be a precious thing  
To fit our English stage: He that should write  
But such a fellow, should be thought to feign  
Extremely, if not maliciously.  POL. 
STONE dead!  PER. 
Dead. Lord! how deeply, sir, you apprehend it?  
He was no kinsman to you?  POL. 
That I know of.  
Well! that same fellow was an unknown fool.  PER. 
And yet you knew him, it seems?  POL. 
I did so. Sir,  
I knew him one of the most dangerous heads  
Living within the state, and so I held him.  PER. 
Indeed, sir?  POL. 
While he lived, in action.  
He has received weekly intelligence,  
Upon my knowledge, out of the low Countries,  
(For all parts of the world) in cabbages;  
And those dispensed, again, to Ambassadors,  
In oranges, muskmelons, apricots,  
lemons, pome-citrons, and such like: sometimes,  
In Colchester-oysters, and your Selsey-cockles.  PET. 
You make me wonder!  POL. 
Sir, upon my knowledge.  
Nay, I have observed him, at your public ordinary,  
Take his advertisement, from a traveler  
(A concealed statesman) in a trencher of meat:  
And, instantly, before the meal was done,  
Convey an answer in a toothpick.  PER. 
Strange!  
How could this be, sir?  POL. 
Why, the meat was cut  
So like his character, and so laid, as he  
Must easily read the cipher.  PER. 
I have heard,  
He could not read, sir.  POL. 
So, 'twas given out,  
(In polity) by those, that did employ him:  
But he could read, and had your languages,  
And to't, as sound a noddle—  PER. 
I have heard, sir,  
That your baboons were spies; and that they were  
A kind of subtle nation, near to China.  POL. 
ay, ay, your Mamuluchi. Faith, they had  
Their hand in a French plot, or two; but they  
Were so extremely given to women, as  
They made discovery of all: yet I  
Had my advises here (on Wednesday last)  
From one of their own coat, they were returned,  
Made their relations (as the fashion is)  
And now stand fair, for fresh employment.  PER. 
'heart!  
This, sir POLL. will be ignorant of nothing.  
It seems, sir, you know all?  POL. 
Not all, sir. But,  
I have some general notions; I do love  
To note, and to observe: though I live out,  
Free from the active torrent, yet I'd mark  
The currents, and the passages of things,  
For mine own private use; and know the ebbs,  
And flows of state.  PER. 
Believe it, sir, I hold  
myself, in no small tie, unto my fortunes,  
For casting me thus luckily, upon you;  
Whose knowledge (if your bounty equal it)  
May do me great assistance, in instruction  
For my behaviour, and my bearing, which  
Is yet so rude, and raw—  POL. 
Why? came you forth  
Empty of rules, for travail?  PER. 
Faith, I had  
Some common ones, from out that vulgar grammar,  
Which he, that cried Italian to me, taught me.  POL. 
Why, this it is, that spoils all our brave bloods;  
Trusting our hopeful gentry unto pedants:  
Fellows of outside, and mere bark. You seem  
To be a gentleman, of ingenuous race—  
I not profess it, but my fate hath been  
To be, where I have been consulted with,  
In this high kind, touching some great men's sons,  
Persons of blood, and honour—  PER. 
Who be these, sir?   

Act II. Scene II.  MOSCA, POLITIQVE, PEREGRINE, VOLPONE, NANO, GREGE. 
Under that window, there't must be. The same.  POL. 
fellows, to mount a bank! Did your instructor  
In the dear tongues, never discourse to you  
Of the Italian mountebanks?  PER. 
Yes, sir.  POL. 
Why,  
Here shall you see one.  PER. 
They are quacksalvers,  
Fellows, that live by venting oils, and drugs?  POL. 
Was that the character he gave you of them?  PER. 
As I remember.  POL. 
Pity his ignorance.  
They are the only-knowing men of Europe!  
Great general scholars, excellent physicians,  
Most admired statesmen, professed favourites,  
And cabinet-counsellors, to the greatest princes!  
The only languag'd-men, of all the world!  PER. 
And, I have heard, they are most lewd impostors;  
Made all of terms, and shreds; no less belyers  
Of great-men's favours, than their own vile medicines;  
Which they will utter, upon monstrous oaths:  
Selling that drug, for two pence, ere they part,  
Which they have valued at twelve crowns, before.  POL. 
Sir, calumnies are answered best with silence:  
yourself shall judge. Who is it mounts, my friends?  MOS. 
SCOTO of Mantua, sir.  POL. 
Is't he? nay, then  
I'll proudly promise, sir, you shall behold  
Another man, then has been fancied to you.  
I wonder, yet, that he should mount his bank  
Here, in this nook, that has been wont t'appear  
In face of the piazza! Here, he comes.  VOLP. 
Mount, Zany.  GRE. 
Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow.  POL. 
See how the people follow him! he's a man  
May write 10000 crowns, in bank, here. Note,  
Mark but his gesture: I do use to observe  
The state he keeps, in getting up!  PER. 
'Tis worth it, sir.  VOLP. 
Most noble gent: and my worthy patrons, it may seem strange, that I, your SCOTO Mantuano, who was ever wont to fix my bank in face of the public piazza, near the shelter of the portico, to the procuratia, should, now (after eight months' absence, from this illustrious city of Venice) humbly retire myself, into an obscure nook of the piazza.  POL. 
Did not I, now, object the same?  PER. 
Peace, sir.  VOLP. 
Let me tell you: I am not (as your Lombard proverb saith) cold on my feet; or content to part with my commodities at a cheaper rate, than I accustomed: look not for it. Nor, that the calumnious reports of that impudent detractor, and shame to our profession, (ALESSANDRO BUTTONE, I mean) who gave out, in public, I was condemned o' Sforzato to the galleys, for poisoning the Cardinal BEMBO'S— Cook, hath at all attached, much less dejected me. No, no, worthy gent. (to tell you true) I cannot endure, to see the rabble of these ground Ciarlitani, that spread their cloaks on the pavement, as if they meant to do feats of activity, and then come in, lamely, with their mouldy tales out of BOCCACIO, like stale TABARINE, the Fabulist: some of them discoursing their travels, and of their tedious captivity in the Turks galleys, when indeed (were the truth known) they were the Christians' galleys, where very temperately, they eat bread, and drunk water, as a wholesome penance (enjoined them by their Confessors) for base pilferies.  POL. 
Note but his bearing, and contempt of these.  VOLP. 
These turdy-facy-nasty-paty-lousy-fartical rogues, with one poor groatsworth of unprepared antimony, finely wrapped up in several 'scartoccios, are able, very well, to kill their twenty a week, and play; yet, these meager starved spirits, who have half stopped the organs of their minds with earthy oppilations, want not their favourers among your shrivelled, salad-eating artisans: who are overjoyed, that they may have their halporth of physic, though it purge 'em into another world ,'tmakes no matter.  POL. 
Excellent! ha' you heard better language, sir?  VOLP. 
Well, let 'em go. And gentlemen, honourable gentlemen, know, that for this time, our bank, being thus removed 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.  POL. 
I told you, sir, his end.  PER. 
You did so, sir.  VOLP. 
I protest, I, and my six servants, are not able to make of this precious liquour, so fast, as it is fetched away from my lodging, by gentlemen of your city; strangers of the terra-ferma; worshipful merchants; ay, and senators too: who, ever since my arrival, have detained me to their uses, by their splendidous liberalities. And worthily. For, what avails your rich man to have his magazines stuffed with moscadelli, or of the purest grape, when his physicians prescribe him (on pain of death) to drink nothing but water, cocted with aniseeds? O, health! health! the blessing of the rich! the riches of the poor! who can buy thee at too dear a rate, since there is no enjoying this world, without thee? Be not then so sparing of your purses, honourable gentlemen, as to abridge the natural course of life—  PER. 
You see his end?  POL. 
ay, is't not good?  VOLP. 
For, when a humid flux, or catarrh, by the mutability of air, falls from your head, into an arm, or shoulder, or any other part; take you a ducat, or your chequeen of gold, and apply to the place affected: see, what good effect it can work. No, no, 'tis this blessed unguento, this rare extraction, that hath only power to disperse all malignant humours, that proceed, either of hot, cold, moist, or windy causes—  PER. 
I would he had put in dry to.  POL. 
Pray you, observe.  VOLP. 
To fortify the most indigest, and crude stomach, ay, were it of one, that (through extreme weakness) vomited blood, applying only a warm napkin to the place, after the unction, and fricace; for the vertigine, in the head, putting but a drop into your nostrils, likewise, behind the ears; a most sovereign, and approved remedy: the mal-caduco, cramps, convulsions, paralysies, epilepsies, tremor-cordia, retired-nerves, ill vapours of the spleen, stoppings of the liver, the stone, the strangury, hernia ventosa, iliaca passio; stops a disenteria, immediately; easeth the torsion of the small guts; and cures melancolia hypocondriaca, being taken and applied, according to my printed receipt. For, Pointing to his bill and his glass. this is the physician, this the medicine; this counsels, this cures; this gives the direction, this works the effect: and (in sum) both together may be termed an abstract of the theoric, and practic in the Aesculapian art. 'Twill cost you eight crowns. And, ZAN FRITADA, pray thee sing a verse, extempore, in honour of it.  POL. 
How do you like him, sir?  PER. 
Most strangely, I!  POL. 
Is not his language rare?  PER. 
But Alchemy  
I never heard the like: or Broughton's books.  SONG. 
HAd old HIPPOCRATES, or GALEN,  
(That to their books put medicines all in)  
But known this secret, they had never  
(Of which they will be guilty ever)  
Been murderers of so much paper,  
Or wasted many a hurtless taper:  
No Indian drug had ere been famed,  
Tobacco, sassafras not named;  
x yet, of guacum one small stick, sir,  
Nor RAYMUND Lully's great elixir.  
x, had been known the Danish GONSWART.  
Or PARACELSUS, with his longsword.  PER. 
All this, yet, will not do, eight crowns is high.  VOLP. 
No more. Gentlemen, if I had but time to discourse to you the miraculous effects of this my oil, surnamed oglio del SCOTO; with the countless catalogue of those I have cured of th'aforesaid, and many more diseases; the patents and privileges of all the Princes, and commonwealths of Christendom; or but the depositions of those that appeared on my part, before the signiory of the Sanitâ, and most learned college of physicians; where I was authorized, upon notice taken of the admirable virtues of my medicaments, and mine own excellency, in matter of rare, and unknown secrets, not only to disperse them publicly in this famous city, but in all the territories, that happily joy under the government of the most pious and magnificent states of Italy. But may some other gallant fellow say, O, there be divers, that make profession to have as good, and as experimented receipts, as yours: Indeed, very many have assayed, like apes in imitation of that, which is really and essentially in me, to make of this oil; bestowed great cost in furnaces, stills, alembics, continual fires, and preparation of the ingredients, (as indeed there goes to it six hundred several simples, besides, some quantity of human fat, for the conglutination, which we buy of the anatomists) but, when these practitioners come to the last decoction, blow, blow, puff, puff, and all flies in fumo: ha, ha, ha. Poor wretches! I rather pity their folly, and indiscretion, than their loss of time, and money; for those may be recovered by industry: but to be a fool borne, is a disease incurable. For myself, I always from my youth have endeavoured to get the rarest secrets, and book them; either in exchange, or for money: I spared nor cost, nor labour, where any thing was worthy to be learned. And gentlemen, honourable gentlemen, I will undertake (by virtue of chemical art) out of the honourable hat, that covers your head, to extract the four elements; that is to say, the fire, air, water, and earth, and return you your felt without burn, or stain. For, whilst others have been at the balloo, I have been at my book: and am now past the craggy paths of study, and come to the flowery plains of honour, and reputation.  POL. 
I do assure you, sir, that is his aim.  VOLP. 
But, to our price.  PER. 
And that withal, sir POL.  VOLP. 
You all know (honourable gentlemen) I never valued this ampulla, or vial, at less than eight crowns, but for this time, I am content, to be deprived of it for six; six crowns is the price; and less in courtesy, I know you cannot offer me: take it, or leave it, howsoever, both it, and I, am at your service. I ask you not, as the value of the thing, for then I should demand of you a thousand crowns, so the cardinal's MONTALTO, FERNESE, the great duke of Tuscany, my gossip, with divers other princes have given me, but I despise money: only to show my affection to you, honourable gentlemen, and your illustrious state here, I have neglected the messages of these princes, mine own offices, framed my journey hither, only to present you with the fruits of my travels. Tune your voices once more to the touch of your instruments, and give the honourable assembly some delightful recreation.  PER. 
What monstrous, and most painful circumstance  
Is here, to get some three, or four gazettes!  
Some threepence, i'th' whole, for that 'twill come to.  SONG. 
YOu that would last long, list to my song,  
Make no more coil, but buy of this oil.  
Would you be ever fair? and young?  
Stout of teeth? and strong of tongue?  
Tart of palate? quick of ear?  
Sharp of sight? of nostril clear?  
Moist of hand? and light of foot?  
(Or I will come nearer to't)  
Would you live free from all diseases?  
do the act, your mistress pleases;  
Yet fright all aches from your bones?  
Here's a medicine, for the nonce.  VOLP. 
Well, I am in a humour (at this time) to make a present of the small quantity my coffer contains: to the rich, in courtesy, and to the poor, for God's sake. Wherefore, now mark; I asked you six crowns; and six crowns, at other times, you have paid me; you shall not give me six crowns, nor five, nor four, nor three, nor two, nor one; nor half a ducat; no, nor a muccinigo: six— pence it will cost you, or six hundred pound— expect no lower price, for by the banner of my front, I will not bate a bagatine, that I will have, only, a pledge of your loves, to carry something from amongst you, to show, I am not contemned by you. Therefore, now, toss your handkerchiefs, cheerfully, cheerfully; and be advertised, that the first heroic spirit, that deigns to grace me, with a handkerchief, I will give it a little remembrance of something, beside, shall please it better, than if I had presented it with a double pistolet.  PER. 
Will you be that heroic spark, CELIA at the window throws down her handkerchief. sir POL?  
O, see! the window has prevented you.  VOLP. 
Lady, I kiss your bounty: and, for this timely grace, you have done your poor SCOTO of Mantua, I will return you, over and above my oil, a secret, of that high, and inestimable nature, shall make you for ever enamoured on that minute, wherein your eye first descended on so mean, (yet not altogether to be despised) an object. Here is a powder, concealed in this paper, of which, if I should speak 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 province, that province as a bank, that bank as a private purse, to the purchase of it. I will, only, tell you; It is the powder, that made VENUS a goddess (given her by APOLLO) that kept her perpetually young, cleared her wrinkles, firmed her gums, filled her skin, coloured her hair; from her, derived to HELEN, and at the sack of Troy (unfortunately) lost: till now, in this our age, it was as happily recovered, by a studious Antiquary, out of some ruins of Asia, who sent a moiety of it, to the court of France (but much sophisticated) wherewith the ladies there, now, colour their hair. The rest (at this present) remains with me; extracted, to a quintessence: so that, wherever it but touches, in youth it perpetually preserves, in age restores the complexion; seats your teeth, did they dance like virginal jacks, firm as a wall; makes them white, as ivory, that were black, as—   

Act II. Scene III.  CORVINO, POLITIQVE, PEREGRINE. 
He beats away the mountebank etc. spite o' the devil, and my shame! come down, here;  
Come down: no house but mine to make your scene?  
signor FLAMINIO, will you down, sir? down?  
What is my wife your FRANCISCINA? sir?  
No windows on the whole piazza, here,  
To make your properties, but mine? but mine?  
Heart! ere tomorrow, I shall be new christened,  
And called the PANTALONE di besogniosi,  
About the town.  PER. 
What should this mean, sir POL?  POL. 
Some trick of state, believe it. I will home.  PER. 
It may be some design, on you.  POL. 
I know not.  
I'll stand upon my guard.  PER. 
It is your best, sir.  POL. 
This three weeks, all my advises, all my letters,  
They have been intercepted.  PER. 
Indeed, sir?  
Best have a care.  POL. 
Nay, so I will.  PER. 
This knight,  
I may not lose him, for my mirth, till night.   

Act II. Scene IIII.  VOLPONE, MOSCA. 
O, I am wounded.  MOS. 
Where, sir?  VOLP. 
Not without;  
Those blows were nothing: I could bear them ever.  
But angry CUPID, bolting from her eyes,  
Hath shot himself into me, like a flame;  
Where, now, he flings about his burning heat,  
As in a furnace, an ambitious fire,  
Whose vent is stopped. The fight is all within me.  
I cannot live, except thou help me, MOSCA;  
My liver melts, and I, without the hope  
Of some soft air, from her refreshing breath,  
Am but a heap of cinders.  MOS. 
'las, good sir!  
Would you had never seen her.  VOLP. 
Nay, would thou  
Hadst never told me of her.  MOS. 
Sir, 'tis true;  
I do confess, I was unfortunate,  
And you unhappy: but I'm bound in conscience,  
No less than duty, to effect my best  
To your release of torment, and I will, sir.  VOLP. 
Dear MOSCA, shall I hope?  MOS. 
Sir, more than dear,  
I will not bid you to despair of aught,  
Within a human compass.  VOLP. 
O, there spoke  
My better Angel. MOSCA, take my keys,  
Gold, plate, and jewels, all's at thy devotion;  
Employ them, how thou wilt; nay, coin me, too:  
So thou, in this, but crown my longings. MOSCA?  MOS. 
Use but your patience.  VOLP. 
So I have.  MOS. 
I doubt not  
To bring success to your desires.  VOLP. 
Nay, then,  
I not repent me of my late disguise.  MOS. 
If you can horn him, sir, you need not.  VOLP. 
True:  
Besides, I never meant him for my heir.  
Is not the colour o' my beard, and eyebrows,  
To make me known?  MOS. 
No jot.  VOLP. 
I did it well.  MOS. 
So well, would I could follow you in mine,  
With half the happiness; and, yet, I would  
Escape your epilogue.  VOLP. 
But, were they gulled  
With a belief, that I was SCOTO?  MOS. 
Sir,  
SCOTO himself could hardly have distinguished!  
I have not time to flatter you, now, we'll part:  
And, as I prosper, so applaud my art.   

Act II. Scene V.  CORVINO, CELIA, SERVITORE. 
DEath of mine honour, with the City's fool?  
A juggling, tooth-drawing, prating mountebank?  
And, at a public window? where whilst he,  
With his strained action, and his dole of faces,  
To his drug-lecture draws your itching ears,  
A crew of old, unmarried, noted lechers,  
Stood leering up, like satires: and you smile,  
Most graciously! and fan your favours forth,  
To give your hot spectator's satisfaction!  
What, was your mountebank their call? their whistle?  
Or were you enamoured on his copper rings?  
His saffron jewel, with the toadstone in't?  
Or his embroidered suit, with the cope-stitch,  
Made of a hearse-cloth? or his old tilt-feather?  
Or his starched 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'll mount, you may; yes truly, you may:  
And so, you may be seen, down to th' foot.  
Get you a cittern, lady vanity,  
And be a dealer, with the virtuous man;  
Make one: I'll but protest myself a cuckold,  
And save your dowry. I am a Dutchman, I!  
For, if you thought me an Italian,  
You would be damned, ere you did this, you whore:  
thou'dst tremble, to imagine, that the murder  
Of father, mother, brother, all thy race,  
Should follow, as the subject of my justice!  CEL. 
Good sir, have patience!  CORV. 
What couldst thou propose  
Less to thyself, then, in this heat of wrath,  
And stung with my dishonour, I should strike  
This steel unto thee, with as many stabs,  
As thou wert gazed upon with goatish eyes?  CEL. 
Alas sir, be appeased! I could not think  
My being at the window should more, now,  
Move your impatience, then at other times.  CORV. 
No? not to seek, and entertain a parley,  
With a known knave? before a multitude?  
You were an actor, with your handkerchief!  
Which he, most sweetly, kissed in the receipt,  
And might (no doubt) return it, with a letter,  
And point the place, where you might meet: your sisters,  
Your mothers, or your ants might serve the turn.  CEL. 
Why, dear sir, when do I make these excuses?  
Or ever stir, abroad, but to the church?  
And that, so seldom—  CORV. 
Well, it shall be less;  
And thy restraint, before, was liberty,  
To what I now decree: and therefore, mark me.  
First, I will have this bawdy light damned up;  
And, till 't be done, some two, or three yards off,  
I'll chalk a line: o'er which, if thou but chance  
To set thy  foot; more hell, more horror,  
More wild, remorceless rage shall seize on thee,  
Then on a conjuror, that, had heedless left  
His circle's safety, ere his devil was laid.  
Then, here's a lock, which I will hang upon thee;  
And, now I think on't, I will keep thee backwards;  
Thy lodging shall be backwards; thy walks backwards;  
Thy prospect-all be backwards; and no pleasure,  
That thou shalt know but backwards: Nay, since you force  
My honest nature, know, it is your own  
Being too open, makes me use you thus.  
Since you will not contain your subtle nostrils  
In a sweet room, but they must snuff the air  
Of rank, Knock within. and sweaty passengers— One knocks.  
Away, and be not seen, pain of thy life;  
Not look toward the window: if thou dost—  
(Nay stay, hear this) let me not prosper, whore,  
But I will make thee an anatomy,  
Dissect thee mine own self, and read a lecture  
Upon thee, to the city, and in public.  
Away. Who's there?  SER. 
'Tis signor MOSCA, sir.   

Act. II. Scene. VI.  CORVINO, MOSCA. 
LEt him come in, his master's dead: There's yet  
Some good, to help the bad. My MOSCA, welcome,  
I guess your news.  MOS. 
I fear you cannot, sir.  CORV. 
Is't not his death?  MOS. 
Rather the contrary.  CORV. 
Not his recovery?  MOS. 
Yes, sir,  CORV. 
I am cursed,  
I am bewitched, my crosses meet to vex me.  
How? how? how? how?  MOS. 
Why, sir, with SCOTO'S oil!  
CORBACCIO, and VOLTORE brought of it,  
Whilst I was busy in an inner room—  CORV. 
Death! that damned mountebank! but, for the law,  
Now, I could kill the rascal: 't cannot be,  
His oil should have that virtue. Ha' not I  
Known him a common rogue, come fiddling in  
To th'osteria, with a tumbling whore,  
And, when he has done all his forced tricks, been glad  
Of a poor spoonful of dead wine, with flies in't?  
It cannot be. All his ingredients  
be a sheeps gall, a roasted bitch's marrow,  
Some few sod earwigs, pounded caterpillars,  
A little capon's grease, and fasting spital:  
I know 'em, to a dram.  MOS. 
I know not, sir,  
But some on't, there they poured into his ears,  
Some in his nostrils, and recovered him;  
Applying but the fricace.  CORV. 
POX o' that fricace.  MOS. 
And since, to seem the more officious,  
And flattering of his health, there, they have had  
(At extreme fees) the college of physicians  
Consulting on him, how they might restore him;  
Where, one would have a cataplasm of spices,  
Another, a flayed ape clapped to his breast,  
A third would ha'it a dog, a fourth an oil  
With wild cats skins: at last, they all resolved  
That, to preserve him, was no other means,  
But some young woman must be straight sought out,  
Lusty, and full of juice, to sleep by him;  
And, to this service (most unhappily,  
And most unwillingly) am I now employed,  
Which, here, I thought to pre-acquaint you with,  
For your advice, since it concerns you most,  
Because, I would not do that thing might cross  
Your ends, on whom I have my whole dependence, sir:  
Yet, if I do it not, they may delate  
My slackness to my patron, work me out  
Of his opinion; and there, all your hopes,  
Venters, or whatsoever, are all frustrate.  
I do but tell you, sir. Besides, they are all  
Now striving, who shall first present him. Therefore—  
I could entreat you, briefly, conclude somewhat:  
Prevent 'em if you can.  CORV. 
Death to my hopes!  
This is my villainous fortune! Best to hire  
Some common courtesan?  MOS. 
ay, I thought on that, sir.  
But they are all so subtle, full of art,  
And age again doting, and flexible,  
So as— I cannot tell— we may perchance  
Light on a quean, may cheat us all.  CORV. 
'Tis true.  MOS. 
No, no: it must be one, that has no tricks, sir,  
Some simple thing, a creature, made unto it;  
Some wench you may command. Ha' you no kinswoman?  
God's so— Think, think, think, think, think, think, think, sir.  
One o'the Doctors offered, there, his daughter.  CORV. 
How!  MOS. 
Yes, signor LUPO, the physician,  CORV. 
His daughter?  MOS. 
And a virgin, sir. Why? Alas  
He knows the state of's body, what it is;  
That nought can warm his blood, sir, but a fever;  
Nor any incantation raise his spirit:  
A long forgetfulness hath seized that part.  
Besides, sir, who shall know it? some one, or two—  CORV. 
I pray thee give me leave. If any man  
But I had had this luck— The thing in't self,  
I know, is nothing— Wherefore should not I  
As well command my blood, and my affections,  
As this dull Doctor? In the point of honour,  
The cases are all one, of wife, and daughter.  MOS. 
I hear him coming.  CORV. 
She shall do't: 'Tis done.  
'slight, if this Doctor, who is not engaged,  
Unless 't be for his counsel (which is nothing)  
Offer his daughter, what should I, that am  
So deeply in? I will prevent him: wretch!  
Covetous wretch! MOSCA, I have determined.  MOS. 
How, sir?  CORV. 
We'll make all sure. The party, you wot of,  
Shall be mine own wife, MOSCA.  MOS. 
Sir. The thing,  
(But that I would not seem to counsel you)  
I should have motioned to you, at the first:  
And, make your count, you have cut all their throats.  
Why! 'tis directly taking a possession!  
And, in his next fit, we may let him go.  
'Tis but to pull the pillow, from his head,  
And he is throttled: 't had been done, before,  
But for your scrupulous doubts.  CORV. 
ay, a plague on't,  
My conscience fools my wit. Well, I'll be brief,  
And so be thou, lest they should be before us;  
Go home, prepare him, tell him, with what zeal,  
And willingness, I do it: swear it was,  
On the first hearing (as thou mayst do, truly)  
Mine own free motion.  MOS. 
Sir, I warrant you,  
I'll so possess him with it, that the rest  
Of his starved clients shall be banished, all;  
And only you received. But come not, sir,  
Until I send, for I have something else  
To ripen, for your good (you must not know't)  CORV. 
But do not you forget to send, now.  MOS. 
Fear not.   

Act II. Scene VII.  CORVINO, CELIA. 
WHere are you, wife? my CELIA? wife? what, blubbering?  
Come, dry those tears. I think, thou thought'st me in earnest?  
Ha? by this light, I talked so but to try thee.  
methinks, the lightness of the occasion  
Should ha' confirmed thee. Come, I am not jealous.  CEL. 
No?  CORV. 
Faith, I am not, ay, nor never was:  
It is a poor, unprofitable humour.  
Do not I know, if women have a will,  
They'll do 'gainst all the watches, o' the world?  
And that the fiercest spies, are tamed with gold?  
Tut, I am confident in thee, thou shalt see't:  
And see, I'll give thee cause too, to believe it.  
Come, kiss me. Go, and make thee ready straight,  
In all thy best attire, thy choicest jewels,  
Put 'em all on, and, with 'em, thy best looks:  
We are invited to a solemn feast,  
At old VOLPONE'S, where it shall appear  
How far I am free, from jealousy, or fear.    


Act III. Scene I.  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 i' 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 clot-polls, 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 'em; have no house,  
No family, no care, and therefore mould  
Tales for men's ears, to bait that sense; or get  
Kitchen-invention, and some stale receipts  
To please the belly, and the groin; nor those,  
With their court-dog-tricks, that can fawn, and fleer,  
Make their revenue out of legs, and faces,  
Echo Mylord, 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 humour, all occasion;  
And change a visor, swifter, than a thought!  
This is the creature, had the art borne with him;  
Toils not to learn it, but doth practise it  
Out of most excellent nature: and such sparks,  
Are the true Parasites, others but their zanies.   

Act III. Scene II.  MOSCA, BONARIO. 
WHo's this? BONARIO? old CORBACCIO's son?  
The person I was bound to seek. Fair sir,  
You are haply met.  BON. 
That cannot be, by thee.  MOS. 
Why, sir?  BON. 
Nay pray thee know thy way, & leave me:  
I would be loath to interchange discourse,  
With such a mate, as thou art.  MOS. 
Courteous sir,  
Scorn not my poverty.  BON. 
Not I, by heaven:  
But thou shalt give me leave to hate thy baseness.  MOS. 
Baseness?  BON. 
ay, answer me, is not thy sloth  
Sufficient argument? thy flattery?  
Thy means of feeding?  MOS. 
Heaven, be good to me.  
These imputations are too common, sir,  
And easily stuck on virtue, when she's poor;  
You are unequal 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.  BON. 
What? does he weep? the sign is soft, and good!  
I do repent me, that I was so harsh.  MOS. 
'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 feign to spin mine own poor raiment,  
Out of my mere observance, being not borne  
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.  BON. 
This cannot be a personated passion!  
I was to blame, so to mistake thy nature;  
Pray thee forgive me: and speak out thy business.  MOS. 
Sir, it concerns you; and though I may seem,  
At first, to make a main offence, in manners,  
And in my gratitude, unto my master,  
Yet, for the pure love, which I bear all right,  
And hatred of the wrong, I must reveal it.  
This very hour, your father is in purpose  
To disinherit you—  BON. 
How!  MOS. 
And thrust you forth,  
As a mere stranger to his blood; '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.  BON. 
This tale hath lost thee much of the late trust,  
Thou hadst with me; it is impossible:  
I know not how to lend it any thought,  
My father should be so unnatural.  MOS. 
It is a confidence, that well becomes  
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.  BON. 
I'm mazed!  MOS. 
Sir, if I do it not, draw your just sword,  
And score your vengeance, on my front, and face;  
Mark me your villain: You have too much wrong,  
And I do suffer for you, sir. My heart  
Weeps blood, in anguish—  BON. 
Lead. I follow thee.   

Act III. Scene III.  VOLPONE, NANO, ANDROGYNO, CASTRONE. 
MOSCA stays long, methinks. Bring forth your sports  
And help, to make the wretched time more sweet.  NAN. 
Dwarf, Fool, and Eunuch, well met here we be.  
A question it were now, whether of us three,  
Being all the known delicates of a rich man,  
In pleasing him, claim the precedency can?  CAS. 
I claim for myself.  AND. 
And, so doth the fool.  NAN. 
'Tis foolish indeed: let me set you both to school.  
First, for your dwarf, he's little, and witty,  
And every thing, 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 fools 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.  VOLP. 
Who's there? One knocks. my couch, away, look, NANO, see:  
Give me my caps, first— go, inquire. Now, CUPID  
Send it be MOSCA, and with fair return.  NAN. 
It is the beauteous madam—  VOLP. 
WOULD-BE— is it?  NAN. 
The same.  VOLP. 
Now, torment on me; squire her in:  
For she will enter, or dwell here for ever.  
Nay, quickly, that my fit were passed. 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!   

Act III. Scene IIII.  LADY, VOLPONE, NANO, WOMEN. 2. 
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, ay, am dressed  
Most favourably, today, it is no matter,  
'Tis well enough. Look, see, these petulant things!  
How they have done this!  VOLP. 
I do feel the fever  
Entering, in at mine ears; O, for a charm,  
To fright it hence.  LAD. 
Come nearer: is this curl  
In his right place? or this? why is this higher  
Than all the rest? you ha' not washed your eyes, yet?  
Or do they not stand even i'your head?  
Where's your fellow? call her.  NAN. 
NOW, St. Mark  
Deliver us: anon, she'll beat her women,  
Because her nose is red.  LAD. 
I pray you, view  
This tire, forsooth: are all things apt, or no?  WOM. 
One hair a little, here, stick out, forsooth.  LAD. 
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, yo'are not ashamed!  
ay, 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—  (NAN. 
More carefully, then of your fame, or honour)  LAD. 
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  
Th'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, i'the next room.  
This fucus was too course too, it's no matter.  
Good-sir, you'll give 'em entertainment?  VOLP. 
The storm comes toward me.  LAD. 
How does my VOLP?  VOLP. 
Troubled with noise, I cannot sleep; I dreamed  
That a strange fury entered, now, my house,  
And, with the dreadful tempest of her breath,  
Did cleave my roof asunder.  LAD. 
Believe me, and I  
Had the most fearful dream, could I remember't—  VOLP. 
Out on my fate; I ha' given her the occasion  
How to torment me: she will tell me hers.  LAD. 
methought, the golden mediocrity  
Polite, and delicate—  VOLP. 
O, if you do love me,  
No more; I sweat, and suffer, at the mention  
Of any dream: feel, how I tremble yet.  LAD. 
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, mirobalanes—  VOLP. 
Ay me, I have ta'en a grasshopper by the wing.  LAD. 
Burnt silk, and amber, you have muscadel  
Good i'the house—  VOLP. 
You will not drink, and part?  LAD. 
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—  VOLP. 
she's in again,  
Before I feigned diseases, now I have one.  LAD. 
And these applied, with a right scarlet-cloth—  VOLP. 
Another flood of words! a very torrent!  LAD. 
Shall I, sir, make you a poultice?  VOLP. 
No, no, no;  
I'm very well: you need prescribe no more.  LAD. 
I have, a little, studied physic; but, now,  
I'm all for music: save, i'the forenoons,  
An hour, or two, for painting. I would have  
A lady, indeed, t'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.  VOLP. 
The Poet,  
As old in time, as PLATO, and as knowing,  
says that your highest female grace is silence.  LAD. 
Which o'your Poets? PETRARCH? or TASSO? or DANTE?  
Guarini? ARIOSTO? ARETINE?  
CIECO di Hadria? I have read them all.  VOLP. 
Is every thing a cause, to my destruction?  LAD. 
I think, I ha' two or three of'em, about me.  VOLP. 
The sun, the sea will sooner, both, stand still,  
Than her eternal tongue! nothing can scape it.  LAD. 
Here's PASTOR FIDO—  VOLP. 
Profess obstinate silence,  
That's, now, my safest.  LAD. 
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 Montaigne:  
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 'em, 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?  VOLP. 
Alas, my mind's perturbed.  LAD. 
Why, in such cases, we must cure ourselves,  
Make use of our philosophy—  VOLP. 
O'y me.  LAD. 
And, as we find our passions do rebel,  
Encounter 'em with reason; or divert 'em,  
By giving scope unto some other humour  
Of lesser danger: as, in politic bodies,  
There's nothing, more, doth overwhelm the judgement,  
And clouds the understanding, then 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 faeces,  
That stop the organs, and, as PLATO says,  
Assassinates our knowledge.  VOLP. 
Now, the spirit  
Of patience help me.  LAD. 
Come, in faith, I must  
Visit you more, a days; and make you well:  
Laugh, and be lusty.  VOLP. 
My good angel save me.  LAD. 
There was but one sole man, in all the world,  
With whom I ere 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  
(And 't be but only, sir, to bring you asleep  
How we did spend our time, and loves, together,  
For some six years.  VOLP. 
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh.  LAD. 
For we were coaetanci, and brought up—  VOLP. 
Some power, some fate, some fortune rescue me.   

Act III. Scene V.  MOSCA, LADY, VOLPONE. 
GOd save you, Madam.  LAD. 
Good sir.  VOLP. 
MOSCA? welcome,  
Welcome to my redemption.  MOS. 
Why, sir?  VOLP. 
Oh,  
Rid me of this my torture, quickly, there;  
My Madam, with the everlasting voice:  
The bells, in time of pestilence, ne'er made  
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.  MOS. 
Has she presented?  VOLP. 
O, I do not care,  
I'll take her absence, upon any price,  
With any loss.  MOS. 
Madam—  LAD. 
I ha' brought your patron  
A toy, a cap here, of mine own work—  MOS. 
'Tis well,  
I had forgot to tell you, I saw your Knight,  
Where you'd little think it—  LAD. 
Where?  MOS. 
marry,  
Where yet, if you make haste, you may apprehend him,  
Rowing upon the water in a gondole,  
With the most cunning courtesan, of Venice.  LAD. 
Is't true?  MOS. 
Pursue 'em, and believe your eyes:  
Leave me, to make your gift. I knew, 't would take.  
For lightly, they that use themselves most licence,  
Are still most jealous.  VOLP. 
MOSCA, hearty thanks,  
For thy quick fiction, and delivery of me.  
Now, to my hopes, what sayst thou?  LAD. 
But do you hear, sir?—  VOLP. 
Again; I fear a paroxysm.  LAD. 
Which way  
Rowed they together?  MOS. 
Toward the rialto.  LAD. 
I pray you lend me your dwarf.  MOS. 
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.  VOLP. 
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.   

Act III. Scene VI.  MOSCA, BONARIO. 
SIr, here concealed, you may hear all. But pray you  
Have patience, One knocks. sir; the same's your father, knocks:  
I am compelled, to leave you.  BON. 
Do so. Yet,  
Cannot my thought imagine this a truth.   

Act. III. Scene. VII.  MOSCA, CORVINO, CELIA, BONARIO, VOLPONE. 
DEath on me! you are come too soon, what meant you?  
Did not I say, I would send?  CORV. 
Yes, but I feared  
You might forget it, and then they prevent us.  MOS. 
Prevent? did ere man haste so, for his horns?  
A courtier would not ply it so, for a place.  
Well, now there's no helping it, stay here;  
I'll presently return.  CORV. 
Where are you, CELIA?  
You know not wherefore I have brought you hither?  CEL. 
Not well, except you told me.  CORV. 
Now, I will:  
Hark hither.  MOS. 
Sir, To Bonario. 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.  BON. 
Yes, I will stay there, I do doubt this fellow.  MOS. 
There, he is far enough; he can hear nothing:  
And, for his father, I can keep him off.  CORV. 
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.  CEL. 
Sir, let me beseech you,  
Affect not these strange trials; if you doubt  
My chastity, why lock me up, for ever:  
Make me the heir of darkness. Let me live,  
Where I may please your fears, if not your trust.  CORV. 
Believe it, I have no such humour, I.  
All that I speak, I mean; yet I am not mad:  
Not horn-mad, see you? Go too, show yourself  
Obedient, and a wife.  CEL. 
O heaven!  CORV. 
I say it,  
Do so.  CEL. 
Was this the train?  CORV. 
have 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, it you be  
Loyal, and mine, be won, respect my venture.  CEL. 
Before your honour?  CORV. 
Honour? tut, a breath;  
There's no such thing, in nature: a mere term  
Invented to awe fools. What is my gold  
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?  CEL. 
Lord! what spirit  
Is this hath entered him?  CORV. 
And for your fame,  
That's such a jig; as if I would go tell it,  
Cry it, on the piazza! who shall know it?  
But he, that cannot speak it; and this fellow,  
Whose lips are i' my pocket: save yourself,  
If you'll proclaim't, you may. I know no other,  
Should come to know it.  CEL. 
Are heaven, and saints then nothing?  
Will they be blind, or stupid?  CORV. 
How?  CEL. 
Good Sir,  
Be jealous still, emulate them; and think  
What hate they burn with, toward every sin.  CORV. 
I grant you: if I thought it were a sin,  
I would not urge you. Should I offer this  
To some young Frenchman, or hot Tuscan blood,  
That had read ARETINE, 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.  CEL. 
O heaven! canst thou suffer such a change?  VOLP. 
Thou art mine honour, MOSCA, and my pride;  
My joy, my tickling, my delight! go, bring 'em.  MOS. 
Please you draw near, sir.  CORV. 
Come on, what—  
You will not be rebellious? by that light—  MOS. 
Sir, signor CORVINO, here, is come to see you.  VOLP. 
Oh.  MOS. 
And hearing of the consultation had,  
So lately, for your health, is come to offer,  
Or rather, sir, to prostitute—  CORV. 
Thanks, sweet MOSCA.  MOS. 
Freely, unasked, or unentreated—  CORV. 
Well.  MOS. 
(As the true, fervent instance of his love)  
His own most fair and proper wife; the beauty,  
Only of price, in Venice—  CORV. 
'Tis well urged.  MOS. 
To be your comfortress, and to preserve you.  VOLP. 
Alas, I am passed already! pray you, thank him,  
For his good care, and promptness, but for that,  
'Tis a vain labour, e'en to fight, 'gainst heaven;  
Applying fire to a stone: (vh, vh, vh, vh.)  
Making a dead leaf grow again. I take  
His wishes gently, though; and, you may tell him,  
What I have done for him: marry; my state is hopeless!  
Will him, to pray for me; and t'use his fortune,  
With reverence, when he comes to't.  MOS. 
Do you hear, sir?  
Go to him, with your wife.  CORV. 
Heart of my father!  
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.  CEL 
Sir, kill me, rather: I will take down poison,  
Eat burning coals, do any thing—  CORV. 
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 rotchet— 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 corrosives, on this stubborn breast.  
Now, by the blood, thou hast incensed, I'll do't.  CEL. 
Sir, what you please, you may, I am your martyr.  CORV. 
Be not thus obstinate. I ha' 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?  MOS. 
Nay, gentle lady, be advised.  CORV. 
No, no.  
She has watched her time. God's precious, this is scurvy;  
'Tis very scurvy: and you are—  MOS. 
Nay, good, sir.  CORV. 
An errant locust, by heaven, a locust. Whore,  
Crocodile, that hast thy thy tears prepared,  
Expecting, how thou'lt bid 'em flow.  MOS. 
Nay, Pray you, sir,  
She will consider.  CEL. 
Would my life would serve  
To satisfy.  CORV. 
('Sdeath) if she would but speak to him,  
And save my reputation, 'twere somewhat;  
But, spitefully to affect my utter ruin.  MOS. 
ay, now you have 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.  CORV. 
Sweet CELIA,  
Thou mayst redeem all, yet; I'll say no more:  
If not, esteem yourself as lost. Nay, stay there.  CEL. 
O god, and his good angels! whether, whether.  
Is shame fled human breasts? that with such ease,  
Men dare put off your honours, 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?  VOLP. 
He leaps off from his couch. 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 copeman.  
Why art thou mazed, to see me thus reviv'd?  
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.  CEL. 
Sir!  VOLP. 
Nay, fly me not.  
Nor, let thy false imagination  
That I was bedrid, 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,  
T' 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, for ever,  
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, loves fruits to steal;  
But the sweet thefts to reveal:  
To be taken, to be seen,  
These have crimes accounted been.  CEL. 
Some serene blast me, or dire lightning strike  
This my offending face.  VOLP. 
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 'em. See, a carbuncle,  
May put out both the eyes of our St. Mark;  
A diamant, 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 'em: yet remains an earring  
To purchase them again, and this whole state.  
A gem, but worth a private patrimony,  
Is nothing: we will eat such at a meal.  
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.  CEL. 
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—  VOLP. 
'Tis the beggars virtue,  
If thou hast wisdom, hear me, CELIA.  
Thy baths shall be the juice of july-flowers,  
Spirit of roses, and of violets,  
The milk of unicorns, and panther's 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,  
Than 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-signior'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 slow;  
And the envious, when they find  
What their number is, be pinned.  CEL. 
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: any thing,  
That may disfavour me, save in my honour.  
And I will kneel to you, pray for you, pay down  
A thousand hourly vows, sir, for your health,  
Report, and think you virtuous—  VOLP. 
Think me cold,  
Frozen, and impotent, and so report me?  
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.  CEL. 
O! just God.  VOLP. 
In vain—  BON. 
Forbear, He 〈◊〉 from where Mosca had placed 〈◊〉 foul ravisher, libidinous swine,  
Free the forced lady, or thou diest, impostor.  
But that I am 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.  VOLP. 
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—   

Act III. Scene VIII.  MOSCA, VOLPONE. 
WHere shall I run, most wretched shame of men,  
To beat out my unlucky brains?  VOLP. 
Here, here.  
What! dost thou bleed?  MOS. 
O, that his well-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.  VOLP. 
Woe, on thy fortune.  MOS. 
And my follies, sir.  VOLP. 
Th' hast made me miserable.  MOS. 
And myself, sir.  
Who would have thought, he would have hearkened, so?  VOLP. 
What shall we do?  MOS. 
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,  
They knock without. Since we have lived, like Grecians.  VOLP. 
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.  MOS. 
To your couch, sir, you  
Make that place good, however. Guilty men  
Suspect, what they deserve still. signor CORBACCIO!   

Act III. Scene IX.  CORBACCIO, MOSCA, VOLTORE, VOLPONE. 
WHy! how now? MOSCA!  MOS. 
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.  CORB. 
Me?  MOS. 
Yes, and my patron.  CORB. 
This act, shall disinherit him indeed:  
Here is the will.  MOS. 
'Tis well, sir.  CORB. 
Right and well.  
Be you as careful now, for me.  MOS. 
My life, sir,  
Is not more tendered, I am only yours.  CORB. 
How does he? will he die shortly, think'st thou?  MOS. 
I fear.  
He'll outlast May.  CORB. 
Today?  MOS. 
No, last-out May, sir.  CORB. 
Couldst thou not gi' him a dram?  MOS. 
O, by no means, sir.  CORB. 
Nay, I'll not bid you.  VOLT. 
This is a knave, I see.  MOS. 
How, signor VOLTORE! did he hear me?  VOLT. 
Parasite.  MOS. 
Who's that? O, sir, most timely welcome—  VOLT. 
Scarce,  
To the discovery of your tricks, I fear.  
You are his, only? and mine, also? are you not?  MOS. 
Who? ay, sir!  VOLT. 
You, sir. What device is this  
About a will?  MOS. 
A plot for you, sir.  VOLT. 
Come,  
Put not your foists upon me, I shall scent 'em.  MOS. 
Did you not hear it?  VOLT. 
Yes, I hear, CORBACCIO  
Hath made your patron, there, his heir.  MOS. 
'Tis true,  
By my device, drawn to it by my plot,  
With hope—  VOLT. 
Your patron should reciprocate?  
And, you have promised?  MOS. 
For your good, I did, sir.  
Nay more, I told his son, brought, hid him here,  
Where he might hear his father pass the deed;  
Being persuaded to it, by this thought, sir,  
That the unnaturalness, first, of the act,  
And then, his fathers 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—  (VOLT. 
I cry thee mercy, MOSCA.)  MOS. 
Worth your patience,  
And your great merit, sir. And, see the change!  VOLT. 
Why? what success?  MOS. 
Most hapless! you must help, sir.  
Whilst we expected th'old raven, in comes  
CORVINO'S wife, sent hither, by her husband—  VOLT. 
What, with a present?  MOS. 
No, sir, on visitation:  
(I'll tell you how, anon) and, staying long,  
The youth, he grows impatient, rushes forth,  
Seizeth the lady, wound's me, makes her swear  
(Or he would murder her, that was his vow)  
T'affirm my patron to have done her rape:  
Which how unlike it is, you see! and, hence,  
With that pretext, he's gone, t'accuse his father;  
Defame my patron; defeat you—  VOLT. 
Where's her husband?  
Let him be sent for, straight.  MOS. 
Sir, I'll go fetch him.  VOLT. 
Bring him, to the Scrutineo.  MOS. 
Sir, I will.  VOLT. 
This must be stopped.  MOS. 
O, you do nobly, sir.  
Alas, 'twas laboured 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 clerk, sir.  CORB. 
What's that?  VOLT. 
willt please you sir, to go along?  MOS. 
Patron, go in, and pray for our success.  VOLP. 
Need makes devotion: heaven your labour bless.    


Act IV. Scene I.  POLITIQVE, PEREGRINE. 
I Told you, sir, it was a plot: you see  
What observation is. You mentioned me,  
For some instructions: I will tell you, sir,  
(Since we are met, here in this height of Venice)  
Some few particulars, I have set down,  
Only for this meridian; fit to be known  
Of your crude traveler, and they are these.  
I will not touch, sir, at your phrase, or clothes,  
For they are old.  PER. 
Sir, I have better.  POL. 
Pardon  
I meant, as they are themes.  PER. 
O, sir, proceed:  
I'll slander you no more of wit, good sir.  POL. 
First, for your garb, it must be grave, and serious;  
Very reserved, and locked; not tell a secret,  
On any terms, not to your father; scarce  
A fable, but with caution; make sure choice  
Both of your company, and discourse; beware,  
You never spoke a truth—  PER. 
How!  POL. 
Not to strangers,  
For those be they you must converse with, most;  
Others I would not know, sir, but, at distance,  
So as I still might be a saver, in 'em:  
You shall have tricks, else, passed upon you, hourly.  
And then, for your religion, profess none;  
But wonder, at the diversity of all;  
And, for your part, protest, were there no other  
But simply the laws o' th' land, you could content you:  
NIC: MACHIAVEL, and monsieur BODINE, both,  
Were of this mind. Then, must you learn the use,  
And handling of your silver fork, at meals;  
The metal of your glass: (these are main matters,  
With your Italian) and to know the hour,  
When you must eat your melons, and your figs.  PER. 
Is that a point of state, too?  POL. 
Here it is.  
For your Venetian, if he see a man  
Preposterous, in the least, he has him straight;  
He has: he strips him. I'll acquaint you, sir,  
I now have lived here ('tis some fourteen months)  
Within the first week, of my landing here,  
All took me for a citizen of Venice:  
I knew the forms, so well—  PER. 
And nothing else.  POL. 
I had read CONTARENE, took me a house,  
Dealt with my Jews, to furnish it with movables—  
Well, if I could but find one man, one man,  
To mine own heart, whom I durst trust, I would—  PER. 
What? what, sir?  POL. 
Make him rich; make him a fortune:  
He should not think, again. I would command it.  PER. 
As how?  POL. 
With certain projects, that I have:  
Which, I may not discover.  PER. 
If I had  
But one to wager with, I would lay odds, now,  
He tells me, instantly.  POL. 
One is, (and that  
I care not greatly, who knows) to serve the state  
Of Venice, with red herrings, for three years,  
And at a certain rate, from Rotterdam,  
Where I have correspondence. There's a letter,  
Sent me from one o'th' States, and to that purpose;  
He cannot write his name, but that's his mark.  PER. 
He is a chandler?  POL. 
No, a cheesemonger.  
There are some other too, with whom I treat,  
About the same negotiation;  
And, I will undertake it: For 'tis thus,  
I'll do't with ease, I have cast it all. Your hoy  
Carries but three men in her, and a boy;  
And she shall make me three returns, a year:  
So, if there come but one of three, I save,  
If two, I can defalk. But, this is now,  
If my main project fail.  PER. 
Then, you have others?  POL. 
I should be loath to draw the subtle air  
Of such a place, without my thousand aims.  
I'll not dissemble, sir, where ere I come,  
I love to be considerate; and, 'tis true,  
I have, at my free hours, thought upon  
Some certain goods, unto the state of Venice,  
Which I do call my cautions: and, sir, which  
I mean (in hope of pension) to propound  
To the great council, then unto the forty,  
So to the ten. My means are made already—  PER. 
By whom?  POL. 
Sir, one, that though his place b'obscure,  
Yet, he can sway, and they will hear him. he's  
A commandadore.  PER. 
What, a common sergeant?  POL. 
Sir, such, as they are, put it in their mouths,  
What they should say, sometimes: as well as greater.  
I think I have my notes, to show you—  PER. 
Good, sir,  POL. 
But, you shall swear unto me, on your gentry,  
Not to anticipate—  PER. 
ay, sir?  POL. 
Nor reveal  
A circumstance— My paper is not with me.  PER. 
O, but, you can remember, sir.  POL. 
My first is,  
Concerning tinderboxes. You must know,  
No family is, here, without its box.  
Now sir, it being so portable a thing,  
Put case, that you, or I were ill affected  
Unto the state; sir, with it in our pockets,  
Might not I go into the arsenal?  
Or you? come out again? and none the wiser?  PER. 
Except yourself, sir.  POL. 
Go too, then. ay, therefore,  
Advertise to the state, how fit it were,  
That none, but such as were known patriots,  
Sound lovers of their country, should be suffered  
T'enjoy them in their houses: and, even those,  
Sealed, at some office, and, at such a bigness,  
As might not lurk in pockets.  PER. 
Admirable!  POL. 
My next is, how t'inquire, and be resolved,  
By present demonstration, whether a ship,  
Newly arrived from Soría, or from  
Any suspected part of all the levant,  
Be guilty of the plague: And, where they use,  
To lie out forty, fifty days, sometimes,  
About the Lazaretto, for their trial;  
I'll save that charge, and loss unto the merchant,  
And, in an hour, clear the doubt.  PER. 
Indeed, sir?  POL. 
Or— I will lose my labour.  PER. 
'My faith, that's much.  POL. 
Nay, sir, conceive me. 'Twill cost me, in onions,  
Some thirty livres—  PER. 
Which is one pound sterling.  POL. 
Beside my waterworks: for this I do, sir.  
First, I bring in your ship, twixt two brickwalls;  
(But those the state shall venture) on the one  
I strain me a fair tarpaulin; and, in that,  
I stick my onions, cut in halves: the other  
Is full of loop-holes, out at which, I thrust  
The noses of my bellows; and, those bellows  
I keep, with waterworks, in perpetual motion,  
(Which is the easiest matter of a hundred)  
Now, sir, your onion, which doth naturally  
Attract th' infection, and your bellows, blowing  
The air upon him, will show (instantly)  
By his changed colour, if there be contagion,  
Or else, remain as fair, as at the first.  
Now 'tis known, 'tis nothing.  PER. 
You are right, sir.  POL. 
I would, I had my note.  PER. 
i'faith, so would I:  
But, you ha' done well, for once, sir.  POL. 
Were I false,  
Or would be made so, I could show you reasons,  
How I could sell this state, now, to the Turk;  
Spite of their galleys, or their—  PER. 
Pray you, sir POLL.  POL. 
I have 'em not, about me.  PER. 
That I feared.  
They'are there, sir?  POL. 
No, this is my diary,  
Wherein I note my actions of the day.  PER. 
Pray you, let's see, sir. What is here? notandum,  
A rat had gnawn my spurre-lethers; notwithstanding,  
I put on new, and did go forth: but, first,  
I threw three beans over the threshold. Item,  
I went, and bought two toothpicks, whereof one  
I burst, immediately, in a discourse  
With a dutch merchant, 'bout ragion del stato.  
From him I went, and paid a moccinigo,  
For piecing my silk stockings; by the way,  
I cheapened sprats: and at St. MARKS, I urined.  
i'faith these are politic notes!  POL. 
Sir, I do slip  
No action of my life, thus, but I quote it.  PER. 
Believe me it is wise!  POL. 
Nay, sir, read forth.   

Act IV. Scene II.  LADY, NANO, WOMEN, POLITIQVE, PEREGRINE. 
WHere should this loose knight be, trow? sure, he's housed.  NAN. 
Why, then he's fast.  LAD. 
ay, he plays both, with me:  
I pray you, stay. This heat will do more harm  
To my complexion, than his heart is worth.  
(I do not care to hinder, but to take him)  
How it comes of!  WOM. 
My master's yonder.  LAD. 
Where?  WOM. 
With a young gentleman.  LAD. 
That same's the party!  
In man's apparel. Pray you, sir, jog my knight:  
I will be tender to his reputation,  
however he demerit.  POL. 
My lady!  PER. 
Where?  POL. 
'Tis she indeed, sir, you shall know her. She is,  
Were she not mine, a lady of that merit,  
For fashion, and behaviour; and, for beauty  
I durst compare—  PER. 
It seems, you are not jealous,  
That dare commend her.  POL. 
Nay, and for discourse—  PER. 
Being your wife, she cannot miss that.  POL. 
Madame,  
Here is a gentleman, pray you, use him, fairly,  
He seems a youth, but he is—  LAD. 
None?  POL. 
Yes, one  
Has put his face, as soon, into the world—  LAD. 
You mean, as early? but today?  POL. 
How's this!  LAD. 
Why in this habit, sir, you apprehend me.  
Well, master WOULD-BEE, this doth not become you;  
I had thought, the odour, sir, of your good name,  
Had been more precious to you; that you would not  
Have done this dire massacre, on your honour;  
One of your gravity, and rank, besides!  
But, knights, I see, care little for the oath  
They make to ladies: chiefly, their own ladies.  POL. 
Now, by my spurs (the symbol of my knighthood)  (PER. 
Lord! how his brain is humbled, for an oath)  POL. 
I reach you not.  LAD. 
Right, sir, your polity  
May bear it through, thus. Sir, a word with you.  
I would be loath, to contest publicly,  
With any gentlewoman; or to seem  
Froward, or violent (as the courtier says)  
It comes too near rusticity, in a lady,  
Which I would shun, by all means: and, however  
I may deserve from master WOULD-BEE, yet,  
T'have one fair gentlewoman, thus, be made  
Th'unkind instrument, to wrong another,  
And one she knows not, ay, and to persever;  
In my poor judgement, is not warranted  
From being a soloecism in our sex,  
If not in manners.  PER. 
How is this!  POL. 
Sweet madame,  
Come nearer to your aim.  LAD. 
marry, and will, sir.  
Since you provoke me, with your impudence,  
And laughter of your light land-siren, here,  
Your SPORUS, your hermaphrodite—  PER. 
What's here?  
Poetic fury, and historic storms!  POL. 
The gentleman, believe it, is of worth,  
And of our nation.  LAD. 
ay, your white-Friers nation?  
Come, I blush for you, master WOULD-BEE, I;  
And am ashamed, you should ha' no more forehead,  
Then, thus, to be the patron, or St. GEORGE  
To a lewd harlot, a base fricatrice,  
A female devil, in a male outside.  POL. 
Nay,  
And you be such a one! I must bid adieu  
To your delights. The case appears too liquid.  LAD. 
ay, you may carry't clear, with your state-face!  
But, for your carnival concupiscence,  
Who here is fled for liberty of conscience,  
From furious persecution of the Marshal,  
Her will I disciple.  PER. 
This is fine, i'faith!  
And do you use this, often? is this part  
Of your wits exercise, 'gainst you have occasion?  
Madam—  LAD. 
Go to, sir.  PER. 
Do you hear me, lady?  
Why, if your knight have set you to beg shirts,  
Or to invite me home, you might have done it  
A nearer way, by far.  LAD. 
This cannot work you,  
Out of my snare.  PER. 
Why? am I in it, then?  
Indeed, your husband told me, you were fair,  
And so you are; only your nose inclines  
(That side, that's next the sun) to the queen-apple.  LAD. 
This cannot be endured, by any patience.   

Act IV. Scene III.  MOSCA, LADY, PEREGRINE. 
WHat's the matter, madame?  LAD. 
If the Senate  
Right not my quest, in this; I will protest 'em,  
To all the world, no aristocracy.  MOS. 
What is the injury, lady?  LAD. 
Why, the callet,  
You told me of, here I have ta'en disguised.  MOS. 
Who? this? what means your ladyship? the creature  
I mentioned to you, is apprehended, now,  
Before the Senate, you shall see her—  LAD. 
Where?  MOS. 
I'll bring you to her. This young gentleman  
I saw him land, this morning, at the port.  LAD. 
Is't possible! how has my judgement wandered!  
Sir, I must, blushing, say to you, I have erred:  
And plead your pardon.  PER. 
What! more changes, yet?  LAD. 
I hope, yo' ha' not the malice to remember  
A gentlewoman's passion. If you stay,  
In Venice, here, please you to use me, sir—  MOS. 
Will you go, madame?  LAD. 
Pray you, sir, use me. In faith,  
The more you see me, the more I shall conceive,  
You have forgot our quarrel.  PER. 
This is rare!  
Sir Politique WOULD-BEE? no, sir Politique bawd!  
To bring me, th●●● acquainted with his wife!  
Well, wise sir POL: since you have practised, thus,  
Upon my freshmanship, I'll try your salt-head,  
What proof it is against a counterplot.   

Act IV. Scene IIII.  VOLTORE, CORBACCIO, CORVINO, MOSCA. 
WEll, now you know the carriage of the business,  
Your constancy is all, that is required  
Unto the safety of it.  MOS. 
Is the lie  
Safely conveyed amongst us? is that sure?  
Knows every man his burden?  CORV. 
Yes.  MOS. 
Then, shrink not.  CORV. 
But, knows the Advocate the truth?  MOS. 
O, sir,  
By no means. I devised a formal tale,  
That salved your reputation. But, be valiant, sir.  CORV. 
I fear no one, but him; that, this his pleading  
Should make him stand for a coheir—  MOS. 
Co-halter.  
Hang him: we will but use his tongue, his noise,  
As we do croakers, here.  CORV. 
ay, what shall he do?  MOS. 
When we ha' done, you mean?  CORV. 
Yes.  MOS. 
Why, we'll think,  
Sell him for mummia. he's half dust already.  
To Voltore. Do not you smile, to see this buffalo,  
How he doth sport it with his head?— I' should  
To Corbaccio. If all were well, and past. Sir, only you  
Are he, that shall enjoy the crop of all,  
And these not know for whom they toil.  CORB. 
ay, peace.  MOS. 
To Corvino, then to Voltore again. But you shall eat it. Much! Worshipful sir,  
MERCURY sit upon your thundering tongue,  
Or the French HERCULES, and make your language  
As conquering as his club, to beat along,  
(As with a tempest) flat, our adversaries:  
But, much more, yours, sir.  VOLT. 
Here they come, ha' done.  MOS. 
I have another witness, if you need, sir,  
I can produce.  VOLT. 
Who is it?  MOS. 
Sir, I have her.   

Act IV. Scene V.  AVOCATORI, 4. BONARIO, CELIA, VOLTORE, CORBACCIO, CORVINO, MOSCA, NOTARIO, COMMANDADORI. 
THe like of this the Senate never heard of.  AVOC. 2. 
'Twill come most strange to them, when we report it.  AVOC. 4. 
The gentlewoman has been ever held  
Of unreproved name.  AVOC. 3. 
So, the young man.  AVOC. 4. 
The more unnatural part that of his father.  AVOC. 2. 
More of the husband.  AVOC. 1. 
I not know to give  
His act a name, it is so monstrous!  AVOC. 4. 
But the impostor, he is a thing created  
T'exceed example!  AVOC. 
And all after times!  AVOC. 2. 
I never heard a true voluptuary  
Described, but him.  AVOC. 3. 
Appear yet those were cited?  NOTA. 
All, but the old magnifico, VOLPONE.  AVOC. 1. 
Why is not he here?  MOS. 
Please your fatherhoods,  
Here is his Advocate. himself's, so weak,  
So feeble—  AVOC. 4. 
What are you?  BON. 
His parasite,  
His knave, his pandar: I beseech the court,  
He may be forced to come, that your grave eyes  
May bear strong witness of his strange impostures.  VOLT. 
Upon my faith, and credit, with your virtues,  
He is not able to endure the air.  AVO. 2. 
Bring him, however.  AVO. 3. 
We will see him.  AVO. 4. 
Fetch him.  VOLT. 
Your fatherhoods fit pleasures be obeyed,  
But sure, the sight will rather move your pities,  
Then indignation; may it please the court,  
In the mean time, he may be heard in me:  
I know this place most void of prejudice,  
And therefore crave it, since we have no reason  
To fear our truth should hurt our cause.  AVOC. 3. 
Speak free.  VOLT. 
Then know, most honoured fathers, I must now  
Discover, to your strangely abused ears,  
The most prodigious, and most frontless piece  
Of solid impudence, and treachery,  
That ever vicious nature yet brought forth  
To shame the state of Venice. This lewd woman  
(That wants no artificial looks, or tears,  
To help the visor, she has now put on)  
Hath long been known a close adulteress,  
To that lascivious youth there; not suspected,  
I say, but known; and taken, in the act;  
With him; and by this man, the easy husband,  
Pardoned: whose timeless bounty makes him, now,  
Stand here, the most unhappy, innocent person,  
That ever man's own goodness made accused.  
For these, not knowing how to owe a gift  
Of that dear grace, but with their shame; being placed  
So above all powers of their gratitude,  
Began to hate the benefit: and, in place  
Of thanks, devise t'extirp the memory  
Of such an act. Wherein, I pray your fatherhoods,  
To observe the malice, yea, the rage of creatures  
Discovered in their evils; and what heart  
Such take, even, from their crimes. But that, anon,  
Will more appear. This gentleman, the father,  
Hearing of this foul fact, with many others,  
Which daily struck at his too-tender ears,  
And, grieved in nothing more, than that he could not  
Preserve himself a parent (his sons ills  
Growing to that strange flood) at last decreed  
To disinherit him.  AVOC. 1. 
These be strange turns!  AVOC. 2. 
The young man's fame was ever fair, and honest.  VOLT. 
So much more full of danger is his vice,  
That can beguile so, under shade of virtue.  
But as I said (my honoured sires) his father  
Having this settled purpose, (by what means  
To him betrayed, we know not) and this day  
Appointed for the deed; that parricide,  
(I cannot style him better) by confederacy  
Preparing this his paramour to be there,  
Entered VOLPONE'S house (who was the man  
Your fatherhoods must understand, designed  
For the inheritance) there, sought his father:  
But, with what purpose sought he him, my lords?  
(I tremble to pronounce it, that a son  
Unto a father, and to such a father  
Should have so foul, felonious intent)  
It was, to murder him. When, being prevented  
By his more happy absence, what then did he?  
Not check his wicked thoughts; no, now new deeds:  
(Mischief doth ever end, where it begins)  
An act of horror, fathers! he dragged forth  
The aged gentleman, that had there lain, bedrid,  
Three years, and more, out off his innocent couch,  
Naked, upon the floor, there left him; wounded  
His servant in the face; and, with this strumpet  
The stale to his forged practice, who was glad  
To be so active, (I shall here desire  
Your fatherhoods to note but my collections,  
As most remarkable) thought, at once, to stop  
His father's ends; discredit his free choice,  
In the old gentleman; redeem themselves,  
By laying infamy upon this man,  
To whom, with blushing, they should owe their lives.  AVOC. 1. 
What proofs have you of this?  BON. 
Most honoured fathers,  
I humbly crave, there be no credit given  
To this man's mercenary tongue.  AVOC. 2. 
Forbear.  BON. 
His soul moves in his fee.  AVOC. 3. 
O, sir.  BON. 
This fellow,  
For six sols more, would plead against his maker.  AVOC. 1. 
You do forget yourself.  VOLT. 
Nay, nay, grave fathers,  
Let him have scope: can any man imagine  
That he will spare his accuser, that would not  
Have spared his parent?  AVO. 1. 
Well, produce your proofs.  CEL. 
I would I could forget, I were a creature.  VOLT. 
signor CORBACCIO.  AVO. 4. 
What is he?  VOLT. 
The father.  AVO. 2. 
Has he had an oath?  NOT. 
Yes.  CORB. 
What must I do now?  NOT. 
Your testimony's craved.  CORB. 
Speak to the knave?  
I'll ha' my mouth, first, stopped with earth; my heart  
Abhors his knowledge: I disclaim in him.  AVO. 1. 
But, for what cause?  CORB. 
The mere portent of nature.  
He is an utter stranger, to my loins.  BON. 
Have they made you to this!  CORB. 
I will not hear thee,  
Monster of men, swine, goat, wolf, parricide,  
Speak not, thou viper.  BON. 
Sir, I will sit down,  
And rather wish my innocence should suffer,  
Than I resist the authority of a father.  VOLT. 
signor CORVINO.  AVO. 2. 
This is strange!  AVO. 1. 
Who's this?  NOT. 
The husband.  AVO. 4. 
Is he sworn?  NOT. 
He is.  AVO. 3. 
Speak then.  CORV. 
This woman (please your fatherhoods) is a whore,  
Of most hot exercise, more than a partridge,  
Upon record—  AVO. 1. 
No more.  CORV. 
Neighs, like a jennet.  NOT. 
Preserve the honour of the court.  CORV. 
I shall,  
And modesty of your most reverend ears.  
And, yet, I hope that I may say, these eyes  
Have seen her glued unto that piece of cedar;  
That fine well-timbered gallant: and that, here,  
The letters may be read, through the horn,  
That make the story perfect.  MOS. 
Excellent! sir.  CORV. 
There is no shame in this, now, is there?  MOS. 
None.  CORV. 
Or if I said, I hoped that she were onward  
To her damnation, if there be a hell  
Greater than whore, and woman; a good catholic  
May make the doubt.  AVO. 3. 
His grief hath made him frantic.  AVO. 1. 
Remove him, She swoons. hence.  AVO. 2. 
Look to the woman.  CORV. 
Prettily feigned! again!  AVO. 4. 
Stand from about her.  AVO. 1. 
Give her the air.  AVO. 3. 
What can you say?  MOS. 
My wound Rare!  
(May't please your wisdoms) speaks for me, received  
In aid of my good patron, when he missed  
His sought-for father, when that well-taught dame  
Had her eve given her, to cry out a rape.  BON. 
O, most laid impudence! Fathers—  AVO. 3. 
Sir, be silent,  
You had your hearing free, so must they theirs.  AVO. 2. 
I do begin to doubt th' imposture here.  AVO. 4. 
This woman, has too many moods.  VOLT. 
Grave fathers,  
She is a creature, of a most professed,  
And prostituted lewdness.  CORV. 
Most impetuous!  
Unsatisfied, grave fathers!  VOLT. 
May her feignings  
Not take your wisdoms: but, this day, she baited  
A stranger, a grave knight, with her loose eyes,  
And more lascivious kisses. This man saw 'em  
Together, on the water, in a gondola.  MOS. 
Here is the lady herself, that saw 'em too,  
Without; who, then, had in the open streets  
Pursued them, but for saving her knight's honour.  AVO. 1. 
Produce that lady.  AVO. 2. 
Let her come.  AVO. 4. 
These things,  
They strike, with wonder!  AVO. 3. 
I am turned a stone!   

Act IV. Scene VI.  MOSCA, LADY, AVOCATORI, etc. 
be resolute, madame.  LAD. 
ay, this same is she.  
Out, thou chameleon harlot; now, thine eyes  
Vie tears with the hyaena: dar'st thou look  
Upon my wronged face? I cry your pardons.  
I fear, I have (forgettingly) transgressed  
Against the dignity of the court—  AVO. 2. 
No, madame.  LAD. 
And been exorbitant—  AVO. 4. 
You have not, lady.  AVO. 4. 
These proofs are strong.  LAD. 
Surely, I had no purpose:  
To scandalize your honours, or my sexes.  AVO. 3. 
We do believe it.  LAD. 
Surely, you may believe it.  AVO. 2. 
Madame, we do.  LAD. 
Indeed, you may; my breeding  
Is not so course—  AVO. 4. 
We know it.  LAD. 
To offend  
With pertinacy—  AVO. 3. 
Lady.  LAD. 
Such a presence:  
No, surely.  AVO. 1. 
We well think it.  LAD. 
You may think it.  AVO. 1. 
Let her o'ercome. What witnesses have you,  
To make good your report?  BON. 
Our consciences.  CEL. 
And heaven, that never fails the innocent.  AVO. 4. 
These are no testimonies.  BON. 
Not in your courts,  
Where multitude, and clamour overcomes.  AVO. 1. 
Nay, than you do wax insolent.  VOLT. 
Here, here,  
Volpone is brought in, as impotent. The testimony comes, that will convince,  
And put to utter dumbness their bold tongues.  
See here, grave fathers, here's the ravisher,  
The rider on men's wives, the great impostor,  
The grand voluptuary! do you not think,  
These limbs should affect venery? or these eyes  
Covet a concubine? pray you, mark these hands.  
Are they not fit to stroke a lady's breasts?  
Perhaps, he doth dissemble?  BON. 
So he does.  VOLT. 
Would you ha' him tortured?  BON. 
I would have him proved.  VOLT. 
Best try him, then, with goads, or burning Irons;  
Put him to the strappado: I have heard,  
The rack hath cured the gout, faith, give it him,  
And help him of a malady, be courteous.  
I'll undertake, before these honoured fathers,  
He shall have, yet, as many left diseases,  
As she has known adulterers, or thou strumpets.  
O, my most equal hearers, if these deeds,  
Acts, of this bold, and most exorbitant strain,  
May pass with sufferance, what one citizen,  
But owes the forfeit of his life, yea fame,  
To him that dares traduce him? which of you  
Are safe, my honoured fathers? I would ask  
(With leave of your grave fatherhoods) if their plot  
Have any face, or colour like to truth?  
Or if, unto the dullest nostril, here,  
It smell not rank, and most abhorred slander?  
I crave your care of this good gentleman,  
Whose life is much endangered, by their fable;  
And, as for them, I will conclude with this,  
That vicious persons when they are hot, and fleshed  
In impious acts, their constancy abounds:  
Damned deeds are done with greatest confidence.  AVOC. 1. 
Take 'em to custody, and sever them.  AVOC. 2. 
'Tis pity, two such prodigies should live.  AVOC. 1. 
Let the old gentleman be returned, with care:  
I'm sorry, our credulity wronged him.  AVO. 4. 
These are two creatures!  AVO. 3. 
I have an earthquake in me!  AVO. 2. 
Their shame (even in their cradles) fled their faces.  AVO. 4. 
You have done a worthy service to the state, sir,  
In their discovery.  AVO. 1. 
You shall hear, ere night,  
What punishment the court decrees upon 'em.  VOLT. 
We thank your fatherhoods. How like you it?  MOS. 
Rare.  
I'd ha' your tongue, sir, tipped with gold, for this;  
I'd ha' you be the heir to the whole city;  
The earth I'd have want men, ere you want living:  
theyare bound to erect your statue, in St. MARKS.  
signor CORVINO, I would have you go,  
And show yourself, that you have conquered.  CORV. 
Yes.  MOS. 
It was much better, that you should profess  
yourself a cuckold, thus, then that the other  
Should have been proved.  CORV. 
Nay, I considered that:  
Now, it is her fault.  MOS. 
Then, it had been yours.  CORV. 
True, I do doubt this Advocate, still.  MOS. 
I'faith,  
You need not, I dare ease you of that care.  CORV. 
I trust thee, MOSCA.  MOS. 
As your own soul, sir.  CORB. 
MOSCA.  MOS. 
Now for your business, sir.  CORB. 
How? ha' you business?  MOS. 
Yes, yours, sir.  CORB. 
O, none else?  MOS. 
None else, not I.  CORB. 
Be careful then.  MOS. 
Rest you, with both your eyes, sir.  CORB. 
Dispatch it.  MOS. 
Instantly.  CORB. 
And look, that all,  
Whatever, be put in, jewels, plate, moneys,  
Householdstuff, bedding, cortines.  MOS. 
Cortine-rings, sir,  
Only, the Advocates see must be deducted.  CORB. 
I'll pay him, now: you'll be too prodigal.  MOS. 
Sir, I must tender it.  CORB. 
Two cecchines is well?  MOS. 
No, six, sir.  CORB. 
'Tis too much.  MOS. 
He talked a great while,  
You must consider that, sir.  CORB. 
Well, there's three—  MOS. 
I'll give it him.  CORB. 
Do so, and there's for thee.  MOS. 
Bountiful bones! What horrid strange offence  
Did he commit 'gainst nature, in his youth,  
Worthy this age? you see, sir, how I work  
Unto your ends; take you no notice.  VOLT. 
No,  
I'll leave you.  MOS. 
All, is yours; the devil, and all:  
Good Advocate. Madame, I'll bring you home.  LAD. 
No, I'll go see your patron.  MOS. 
That you shall not:  
I'll tell you, why. My purpose is, to urge  
My patron to reform his will; and, for  
The zeal you have shown today, whereas before  
You were but third, or, fourth, you shall be now  
Put in the first: which would appear as begged,  
If you were present. Therefore—  LAD. 
You shall sway me.    


Act V. Scene I.  VOLPONE. 
WEll, I am here; and all this brunt is past:  
I ne'er was in dislike with my disguise,  
Till this fled moment; here, 'twas good, in private,  
But, in your public, Cave, whilst I breath.  
'Fore god, my left leg 'gan to have the cramp;  
And I apprehended, straight, some power had struck me  
With a dead palsy: well, I must be merry,  
And shake it off. A many of these fears  
Would put me into some villainous disease,  
Should they come thick upon me: I'll prevent 'em.  
Give me a bowl of lusty wine, to fright  
This humour from my heart; He drinks. (hum, hum, hum)  
'Tis almost gone, already: I shall conquer.  
Any device, now, of rare, ingenious knavery,  
That would possess me with a violent laughter,  
Would make me up, Drinks again. again! So, so, so, so.  
This heat is life; 'tis blood, by this time: MOSCA!   

Act V. Scene II.  MOSCA, VOLPONE, NANO, CASTRONE. 
HOw now, sir? does the day look clear again?  
Are we recovered? and wrought out of error,  
Into our way? to see our path, before us?  
Is our trade free, once more?  VOLP. 
Exquisite MOSCA!  MOS. 
Was it not carried learnedly?  VOLP. 
And stoutly.  
Good wits are greatest in extremities.  MOS. 
It were a folly, beyond thought, to trust  
Any grand act unto a cowardly spirit:  
You are not taken with it, enough, methinks?  VOLP. 
O, more, than if I had enjoyed the wench:  
The pleasure of all womankind's not like it.  MOS. 
Why, now you speak, sir. We must, here be fixed;  
Here, we must rest; this is our masterpiece:  
We cannot think, to go beyond this.  VOLP. 
True,  
Thou hast played thy prize, my precious MOSCA.  MOS. 
Nay, sir,  
To gull the court—  VOLP. 
And, quite divert the torrent,  
Upon the innocent.  MOS. 
Yes, and to make  
So rare a music out of discords—  VOLP. 
Right.  
That, yet, to me's the strangest! how th' hast borne it!  
That these (being so divided 'mongst themselves)  
Should not sent somewhat, or in me, or thee,  
Or doubt their own side.  MOS. 
True, they will not see't.  
Too much light blinds 'em, I think. Each of'em  
Is so possessed, and stuffed with his own hopes,  
That any thing, unto the contrary,  
Never so true, or never so apparent,  
Never so palpable, they will resist it—  VOLP. 
Like a temptation of the devil.  MOS. 
Right, sir.  
Merchant's may talk of trade, and your great signiors  
Of land, that yields well; but if Italy  
Have any glebe, more fruitful, than these fellows,  
I am deceived. Did not your Advocate rare?  VOLP. 
O (my most honoured fathers, my grave fathers,  
Under correction of your fatherhoods,  
What face of truth is, here? If these strange deeds  
May pass, most honoured fathers—) I had much ado  
To forbear laughing.  MOS. 
'T seemed to me, you sweat, sir.  VOLP. 
In troth, I did a little.  MOS. 
But confess, sir,  
Were you not daunted?  VOLP. 
In good faith, I was  
A little in a mist; but not dejected:  
Never, but still myself.  MOS. 
I think it, sir  
Now (so truth help me) I must needs say this, sir.  
And, out of conscience, for your advocate:  
He has taken pains, in faith, sir, and deserved,  
(In my poor judgement, I speak it, under favour,  
Not to contrary you, sir) very richly—  
Well— to be cozened.  VOLP. 
'Troth, and I think so too,  
By that I heard him, in the latter end.  MOS. 
O, but before, sir; had you heard him, first,  
Draw it to certain heads, then aggravate,  
Then use his vehement figures— I looked still,  
When he would shift a shirt; and, doing this  
Out of pure love, no hope of gain—  VOLP. 
'Tis right.  
I cannot answer him, MOSCA, as I would,  
Not yet; but for thy sake, at thy entreaty,  
I will begin, e'en now, to vex 'em all:  
This very instant.  MOS. 
Good, sir.  VOLP. 
Call the dwarf,  
And eunuch, forth.  MOS. 
CASTRONE, NANO.  NAN. 
Here.  VOLP. 
Shall we have a jig, now?  MOS. 
What you please, sir.  VOLP. 
Go,  
straight give out, about the streets, you two,  
That I am dead; do it with constancy,  
Sadly, do you hear? impute it to the grief  
Of this late slander.  MOS. 
What do you mean, sir?  VOLP. 
O,  
I shall have, instantly, my vulture, crow,  
Raven, come flying hither (on the news)  
To peck for carrion, my she-wolf, and all,  
Greedy, and full of expectation—  MOS. 
And then to have it ravished from their mouths?  VOLP. 
'Tis true, I will ha' thee put on a gown,  
And take upon thee, as thou wert mine heir;  
Show 'em a will: open that chest, and reach  
Forth one of those, that has the blanks. I'll straight  
Put in thy name.  MOS. 
It will be rare, sir.  VOLP. 
ay,  
When they e'enegape, and find themselves deluded—  MOS. 
Yes.  VOLP. 
And thou use them skiruily. Dispatch,  
Get on thy gown.  MOS. 
But, what, sir, if they ask  
After the body?  VOLP. 
Say, it was corrupted.  MOS 
I'll say, it stunk, sir; and was feign t' have it  
Coffined up instantly, and sent away.  VOLP. 
Any thing, what thou wilt. Hold, here's my will.  
Get thee a cap, a count-book, pen and ink,  
Papers afore thee; sit, as thou wert taking  
An inventory of parcels: I'll get up,  
Behind the curtain, on a stool, and hearken;  
Sometime, peep over; see, how they do look;  
With what degrees, their blood doth leave their faces!  
O, 'twill afford me a rare meal of laughter.  MOS. 
Your Advocate will turn stark dull, upon it.  VOLP. 
It will take off his oratory's edge.  MOS. 
But your Clarissimo, old round-back, he  
Will crump you, like a hog-louse, with the touch.  VOLP. 
And what CORVINO?  MOS. 
O, sir, look for him,  
Tomorrow morning, with a rope, and a dagger,  
To visit all the streets; he must run mad.  
My Lady too, that came into the court,  
To bear false witness, for your worship—  VOLP. 
Yes,  
And kissed me 'fore the fathers; when my face  
Flowed all with oils.  MOS. 
And sweat, sir. Why, your gold  
Is such another medicine, it dries up  
All those offensive savours! It transforms  
The most deformed, and restores 'em lovely,  
As 'twere the strange poetical girdle. Cestia. JOVE  
Could not invent, t' himself, a shroud more subtle,  
To pass ACRISIUS guards. It is the thing  
Makes all the world her grace, her youth, her beauty.  VOLP. 
I think, she loves me.  MOS. 
Who? the lady, sir?  
she's jealous of you.  VOLP. 
Dost thou say so?  MOS. 
Hark,  
There's some already.  VOLP. 
Look.  MOS. 
It is the vulture:  
He has the quickest sent.  VOLP. 
I'll to my place,  
Thou, to thy posture.  MOS. 
I am set.  VOLP. 
But, MOSCA,  
Play the artificer now, torture 'em, rarely.   

Act. V. Scene. III.  VOLTORE, MOSCA, CORBACCIO, CORVINO, LADY, VOLPONE. 
HOw now, my MOSCA?  MOS. 
Turkey carpets, nine—  VOLT. 
Taking an inventory? that is well.  MOS. 
Two suits of bedding, tissue—  VOLT. 
Where's the will?  
Let me read that, the while.  CORB. 
So, set me down:  
And get you home.  VOLT. 
Is he come, now, to trouble us?  MOS. 
Of cloth of gold, two more—  CORB. 
Is it done, MOSCA?  MOS. 
Of several velvets, eight—  VOLT. 
I like his care.  CORB. 
Dost thou not hear?  CORV. 
Ha? is the hour come, MOSCA?  VOLP. 
Volpone peeps from behind a traverse. ay, now, they muster.  CORV. 
What does the advocate here?  
Or this CORBACCIO?  CORB. 
What do these here?  LAD. 
MOSCA?  
Is his thread spun?  MOS. 
Eight chests of linen—  VOLP. 
O,  
My fine dame WOULD-BEE, too!  CORV. 
MOSCA, the will,  
That I may show it these, and rid 'em hence.  MOS. 
Six chests of diaper, four of damask— There.  CORB. 
Is that the will?  MOS. 
Down-beds, and bolsters—  VOLP. 
Rare!  
Be busy still. Now, they begin to flutter:  
They never think of me. Look, see, see, see!  
How their swift eyes run over the long deed,  
Unto the name, and to the legacies,  
What is bequeathed them, there—  MOS. 
Ten suits of hangings—  VOLP. 
ay, i'their garters, MOSCA. Now, their hopes  
Are at the gasp.  VOLT. 
MOSCA the heir!  CORB. 
What's that?  VOLP. 
My advocate is dumb, look to my merchant,  
He has heard of some strange storm, a ship is lost,  
He faints: my lady will swoon. Old glazen-eyes,  
He hath not reached his despair, yet.  CORB. 
All these  
Are out of hope, I am sure the man.  CORV. 
But, MOSCA—  MOS. 
Two cabinets—  CORV. 
Is this in earnest?  MOS. 
One  
Of ebony.—  CORV. 
Or, do you but delude me?  MOS. 
The other, mother of pearl— I am very busy.  
Good faith, it is a fortune thrown upon me—  
Item, one salt of agate— not my seeking.  LAD. 
Do you hear, sir?  MOS. 
A perfumed box— pray you forbear,  
You see I am troubled— made of an onyx—  LAD. 
How!  MOS. 
Tomorrow, or next day, I shall be at leisure,  
To talk with you all.  CORV. 
Is this my large hopes issue?  LAD. 
Sir, I must have a fairer answer.  MOS. 
Madame!  
marry, and shall: pray you, fairly quit my house.  
Nay, raise no tempest with your looks; but, hark you:  
Remember, what your ladyship offered me,  
To put you in, an heir; go to, think on't.  
And what you said, e'en your best madames did  
For maintenance, and, why not you? enough.  
Go home, and use the poor sir POL, your knight, well;  
For fear I tell some riddles: go, be melancholic.  VOLP. 
O, my fine devil!  CORV. 
MOSCA, pray you a word.  MOS. 
Lord! will not you take your dispatch hence, yet?  
methinks (of all) you should have been th'example.  
Why should you stay, here? with what thought? what promise?  
Hear you, do not you know, I know you an ass?  
And, that you would, most feign, have been a wittol,  
If fortune would have let you? that you are  
A declared cuckold, on good terms? this pearl,  
You'll say, was yours? right: this diamant?  
I'll not deny't, but thank you. Much here, else?  
It may be so. Why, think that these good works  
May help to hide you bad: I'll not betray you,  
Although you be but extraordinary,  
And have it only in title, it sufficeth.  
Go home, be melancholic too, or mad.  VOLP. 
Rare, MOSCA! how his villainy becomes him!  VOLT. 
Certain, he doth delude all these, for me.  CORB. 
MOSCA, the heir?  VOLP. 
O, his four eyes have found it!  CORB. 
I am cozened, cheated, by a parasite-slave;  
Harlot, thouhast guled me.  MOS. 
Yes, sir. Stop your mouth,  
Or I shall draw the only tooth, is left.  
Are not you he, that filthy covetous wretch,  
With the three legs, that here, in hope of prey,  
Have, any time this three year, snuffed about,  
With your most grovelling nose; and would have hired  
Me to the poisoning of my patron? sir?  
Are not you he, that have, today, in court,  
Professed the disinheriting of your son?  
Perjured yourself? Go home, and die, and stink;  
If you but croak a syllable, all comes out:  
Away and call your porters, go, go, stink.  VOLP. 
Excellent varlet!  VOLT. 
Now, my faithful MOSCA,  
I find thy constancy.  MOS. 
Sir?  VOLT. 
Sincere.  MOS. 
A table  
Of porphyry— I mar'le, you'll be thus troublesome.  VOLT. 
Nay, leave off now, they are gone.  MOS. 
Why? who are you?  
What? who did send for you? o'cry you mercy,  
Reverend sir! good faith, I am grieved for you,  
That any chance of mine should thus defeat  
Your (I must needs say) most deserving travels:  
But, I protest, sir it was cast upon me,  
And I could, almost, wish to be without it,  
But, that the will o' th' dead, must be observed.  
marry, my joy is, that you need it not,  
You have a gift, sir, (thank your education)  
Will never let you want, while there are men,  
And malice, to breed causes. Would I had  
But half the like, for all my fortune, sir.  
If I have any suits (as I do hope,  
Things being so easy, and direct, I shall not)  
I will make bold with your obstreperous aid,  
(Conceive me) for your fee, sir. In mean time,  
You, that have so much law, I know ha' the conscience,  
Not to be covetous of what is mine.  
Good sir, I thank you for my plate: 'twill help  
To set up a young man. Good faith, you look  
As you were costive; best go home, and purge, sir.  VOLP. 
Bid him, eat lettuce well: my witty mischief,  
Let me embrace thee. O, that I could now  
Transform thee to a VENUS— MOSCA, go,  
straight, take my habit of Clarissimo;  
And walk the streets; be seen, torment 'em more:  
We must pursue, as well as plot. Who would  
Have lost this feast?  MOS. 
I doubt it will lose them.  VOLP. 
O, my recovery shall recover all.  
That I could now but think on some disguise,  
To meet 'em in: and ask 'em questions.  
How I would vex 'em still, at every turn?  MOS. 
Sir, I can fit you.  VOLP. 
Canst thou?  MOS. 
Yes, I know  
One o' the Commandatori, sir, so like you,  
Him will I straight make drunk, and bring you his habit.  VOLP. 
A rare disguise, and answering thy brain!  
O, I will be a sharp disease unto 'em.  MOS. 
Sir, you must look for curses—  VOLP. 
Till they burst;  
The Fox fares ever best, when he is cursed.   

Act V. Scene IIII.  PEREGRINE, MERCATORI. 3. WOMAN, POLITIQVE. 
AM I enough disguised?  MER. 1. 
I warrant you.  PER. 
All my ambition is to fright him, only.  MER. 2. 
If you could ship him away, 'twere excellent.  MER. 3. 
To Zant, or to Aleppo?  PER. 
Yes, and ha' his  
Adventures put i' th' book of voyages,  
And his gulled story registered, for truth?  
Well, gentlemen, when I am in, a while,  
And that you think us warm in our discourse,  
Know your approaches.  MER. 1. 
Trust it to our care.  PER. 
Save you, fair lady. Is sir POLL. within?  WOM. 
I do not know, sir.  PER. 
Pray you, say unto him,  
Here is a merchant, upon earnest business,  
Desires to speak with him.  WOM. 
I will see, sir.  PER. 
Pray you.  
I see, the family is all female, here.  WOM. 
He says, sir, he has weighty affairs of state,  
That now require him whole, some other time  
You may possess him.  PER. 
Pray you say again,  
If those require him whole, these will exact him,  
Whereof I bring him tidings. What might be  
His grave affair of state, now? how, to make  
Bolognian sausages, here, in Venice, sparing  
One o'th' ingredients.  WOM. 
Sir, he says, he knows  
By your word, tidings, that you are no statesman,  
And therefore, will you stay.  PER. 
Sweet, pray you return him,  
I have not read so many proclamations,  
And studied them, for words, as he has done,  
But— Here he deigns to come.  POL. 
Sir, I must crave  
Your courteous pardon. There hath chanced( today)  
Unkind disaster, twixt my lady, and me:  
And I was penning my apology  
To give her satisfaction, as you came, now.  PER. 
Sir, I am grieved, I bring you worse disaster;  
The gentleman, you met at th' port, today,  
That told you, he was newly arrived—  POL. 
ay, was  
A fugitive punk?  PER. 
No, sir, a spy, set on you:  
And, he has made relation to the Senate,  
That you professed to him, to have a plot,  
To sell the state of Venice, to the Turk.  POL. 
O me!  PER. 
For which, warrants are signed by this time,  
To apprehend you, and to search your study,  
For papers—  POL. 
Alas, sir. I have none, but notes,  
Drawn out of playbooks—  PER. 
All the better, sir.  POL. 
And some essays. What shall I do?  PER. 
Sir, best  
Convey yourself into a sugar-chest,  
Or, if you could lie round, a frail were rare:  
And I could send you, aboard.  POL. 
Sir, I but talked so,  
For discourse' sake, They knock without. merely.  PER. 
Hark, they are there.  POL. 
I am a wretch, a wretch.  PER. 
What, will you do, sir?  
ha' you ne'er a curren-but to leap into?  
They'll put you to the rack, you must be sudden.  POL. 
Sir, I have an engine—  (MER. 3. 
Sir Politique WOULD-BE?  MER. 2. 
Where is he?)  POL. 
That I have thought upon, before time.  PER. 
What is it?  POL. 
(I shall ne'er endure the torture.)  
marry, it is, sir, of a tortoise-shell,  
Fitted, for these extremities: pray you sir, help me.  
Here, I have a place, sir, to put back my legs,  
(Please you to lay it on, sir) with this cap,  
And my black gloves, I'll lie, sir, like a tortoise,  
Till they are gone.  PER. 
And, call you this an engine?  POL. 
Mine own device— good sir, bid my wives women  
They rush in. To burn my papers.  MER. 1. 
Where's he hid?  MER. 3. 
We must,  
And will, sure, find him.  MER. 2. 
Which is his study?  MER. 1. 
What  
Are you, sir?  PER. 
I'm a merchant, that came here  
To look upon this tortoise.  MER. 3. 
How?  MER. 1. 
St. Mark!  
What beast is this?  PER. 
It is a fish.  MER. 2. 
Come out, here.  PER. 
Nay, you may strike him, sir, and tread upon him:  
he'll bear a cart.  MER. 1. 
What, to run over him?  PER. 
Yes.  MER. 3. 
Let's jump, upon him.  MER. 2. 
Can he not go?  PER. 
He creeps, sir.  MER. 1. 
Let's see him creep.  PER. 
No, good sir, you will hurt him.  MER. 2. 
(Heart) I'll see him creep; or prick his guts.  MER. 3. 
Come out, here.  PER. 
Pray you sir, (creep a little)  MER. 1. 
forth.  MER. 2. 
Yet further.  PER. 
Good sir, (creep)  MER. 2. 
We'll see his legs.  MER. 3. 
They pull of the shell and discover him. God's so, he has garters!  MER. 1. 
ay, and gloves!  MER. 2. 
Is this  
Your fearful tortoise?  PER. 
Now, sir POLL. we are even;  
For your next project, I shall be prepared:  
I am sorry, for the funeral of your notes, sir.  MER. 1. 
'Twere a rare motion, to be seen in Fleetstreet!  MER. 2. 
ay, i'the term.  MER. 1. 
Or Smithfield, in the fair.  MER. 3. 
methinks, 'tis but a melancholic sight!  PER. 
Farewell, most politic tortoise.  POL. 
Where's my lady?  
Knows she of this?  WOM. 
I know not, sir.  POL. 
inquire.  
O, I shall be the fable of all feasts;  
The freight of the gazetti; shipboy's tale;  
And, which is worst, even talk for ordinaries.  WOM. 
My lady's come most melancholic, home,  
And says, sir, she will straight to sea, for physic.  POL. 
And I, to shun, this place, and climb for ever;  
Creeping, with house, on back: and think it well,  
To shrink my poor head, in my politic shell.   

Act IV. Scene V.  The first, in the habit of a Commandadora: the other, of a Clarissimo. VOLPONE, MOSCA. 
AM I then like him?  MOS. 
O, sir, you are he:  
No man can sever you.  VOLP. 
Good.  MOS. 
But, what am I?  VOLP. 
'Fore heaven, a brave Clarissimo, thou becomest it!  
Pity, thou wert not borne one.  MOS. 
If I hold  
My made one, 'twill be well.  VOLP. 
I'll go, and see  
What news, first, at the court.  MOS. 
Do so. My fox  
Is out on his hole, and, ere he shall re-enter,  
I'll make him languish, in his borrowed case,  
Except he come to composition, with me:  
ANDROGINO, CASTRONE, NANO.  ALL. 
Here.  MOS. 
Go, recreate yourselves, abroad; go, sport:  
So, now I have the keys, and am possessed.  
Since he will, needs, be dead, afore his time,  
I'll bury him, or gain by him. I'm his heir:  
And so will keep me, till he share at least.  
To cozen him of all, were but a cheat  
Well placed; no man would construe it a sin:  
Let his sport pay for't, this is called the foxtrap.   

Act V. Scene VI.  CORBACCIO, CORVINO, VOLPONE. 
THey say, the court is set.  CORV. 
We must maintain  
Our first tale good, for both our reputations.  CORB. 
Why? mine's no tale: my son would, there, have killed me.  CORV. 
That's true, I had forgot: mine is, I am sure.  
But, for your will, sir.  CORB. 
ay, I'll come upon him,  
For that, hereafter, now his Patron's dead.  VOLP. 
signor CORVINO! and CORBACCIO! sir,  
Much joy unto you.  CORV. 
Of what?  VOLP. 
The sudden good,  
Dropped down upon you—  CORB. 
Where?  VOLP. 
(And, none knows (how)  
From old VOLPONE, sir.  CORB. 
Out, errant knave.  VOLP. 
Let not your too much wealth, sir, make your furious.  CORB. 
Away, thou varlet.  VOLP. 
Why sir?  CORB. 
Dost thou mock me?  VOLP. 
You mock the world, sir, did you not change wills?  CORB. 
Out, harlot.  VOLP. 
O! belike you are the man,  
signor CORVINO? i'faith, you carry it well;  
You grow not mad withal: I love your spirit.  
You are not overleavened, with your fortune.  
You should ha' some would swell, now like a wine-fat,  
With such an Autumn— Did he gi'you all, sir?  CORV. 
Avoid, you rascal.  VOLP. 
Troth, your wife has shown  
herself a very woman: but, you are well,  
You need not care, you have a good estate,  
To bear it out, sir, better by this chance.  
Except CORBACCIO have a share?  CORB. 
Hence, varlet.  VOLP. 
You will not be a' known, sir: why 'tis wise.  
Thus do all gamesters, at all games, dissemble.  
No man will seem to win. Here, comes my vulture,  
Heaving his beak up i' the air, and snuffing.   

Act V. Scene VII.  VOLTORE, VOLPONE. 
Outstripped thus, by a parasite? a slave?  
Would run on errands? and make legs, for crumbs?  
Well, what I'll do—  VOLP. 
The court stays for you worship.  
I e'en rejoice, sir, at your worship's happiness,  
And that it fell into so learned hands,  
That understand the fingering.—  VOLT. 
What do you mean?  VOLP. 
I mean to be a suitor to your worship,  
For the small tenement, out of reparations;  
That, at the end of your long row of houses,  
By the piscaria: it was, in VOLPONE'S time,  
Your predecessor, ere he grew diseased,  
A handsome, pretty, customed, bawdy-house,  
As any was in Venice (none dispraised)  
But fell with him; his body, and that house  
Decayed, together.  VOLT. 
Come, sir, leave your prating.  VOLP. 
Why, if your worship give me but your hand,  
That I may ha' the refusal; I have done.  
'Tis a mere toy, to you, sir; candle rends:  
As your learned worship knows—  VOLT. 
What do I know?  VOLP. 
marry no end of your wealth, sir, god decrease it.  VOLT. 
Mistaking knave! what, mockest thou my misfortune?  VOLP. 
His blessing on your heart, sir, would 'twere more.  
(Now, to my first, again; at the next corner.)   

Act V. Scene VIII.  CORBACCIO, CORVINO, (MOSCA, passant) VOLPONE. 
SEe, in our habit! see the impudent varlet!  CORV. 
That I could shoot mine eyes at him, like gun-stones.  VOLP. 
But, is this true, sir, of the parasite?  CORB. 
Again, t'afflict us? monster?  VOLP. 
In good faith, sir,  
I'm heartily grieved, a beard of your grave length  
Should be so overreached. I never brooked  
That parasites hair, methought his nose should cozen:  
There still was somewhat, in his look, did promise  
The bane of a Clarissimo.  CORB. 
Knave—  VOLP. 
methinks,  
Yet you, that are so traded i' the world,  
A witty merchant, the fine bird, CORVINO,  
That have such moral emblems on your name,  
Should not have sung you shame; and dropped your cheese:  
To let the fox laugh at your emptiness.  CORV. 
Sirrah, you think, the privilege of the place,  
And your red saucy cap, that seems (to me)  
Nailed to your jolt-head, with those two cecchines,  
Can warrant your abuses; come you, hither:  
You shall perceive, sir, I dare beat you. Approach.  VOLP. 
No haste, sir, I do know your valour, well:  
Since you durst publish what you are, sir.  CORV. 
Tarry,  
I'd speak, with you.  VOLP. 
Sir, sir, another time—  CORV. 
Nay, now.  VOLP. 
O god, sir! I were a wise man,  
Would stand the fury of a distracted cuckold.  CORB. 
What! Mosca walks by 'em. come again?  VOLP. 
Upon 'em, MOSCA; save me,  CORB. 
The air's infected, where he breathes.  CORV. 
Let's fly him.  VOLP. 
Excellent Basilisk! turn upon the vulture.   

Act V. Scene IX.  VOLTORE, MOSCA, VOLPONE. 
WEll, flesh-fly, it is summer with you, now;  
Your winter will come on.  MOS. 
Good Advocate,  
Pray thee, not rail, nor threaten out of place, thus;  
Thou'lt make a soloecism (as madame says.)  
Get you a biggin, more: your brain breaks loose.  VOLT. 
Well, sir.  VOLP. 
Would you ha' me beat the insolent slave?  
Throw dirt, upon his first good clothes?  VOLT, 
This same  
Is, doubtless, some familiar!  VOLP. 
Sir, the court  
In troth, stays for you. I am mad, a mule,  
That never read JUSTINIAN, should get up,  
And ride an Advocate. Had you no quirk,  
To avoid gullage, sir, by such a creature?  
I hope you do but jest; he has not done't:  
This's but confederacy, to blind the rest.  
You are the heir?  VOLT. 
A strange, officious,  
Troublesome knave! thou dost torment me.  VOLP. 
I know—  
It cannot be, sir, that you should be cozened;  
'Tis not within the wit of man, to do it:  
You are so wise, so prudent, and, 'tis fit,  
That wealth, and wisdom still, should go together.   

Act V. Scene 10.  AVOCATORIA, 4. NOTARIO, COMMANDADORE, BONARIO, CELIA, CORBACCIO, CORVINO, VOLTORE, VOLPONE. 
ARe all the parties, here?  NOT. 
All, but the Advocate.  AVO. 2. 
And, here he comes.  AVO. 
Then bring 'em forth to sentence.  VOLT. 
O, my most honoured fathers, let your mercy  
Once win upon your justice, to forgive—  
I am distracted—  (VOLP. 
What will he do, now?)  VOLP. 
O,  
I know not which t'address myself to, first,  
Whether your fatherhoods, or these innocents—  (CORV. 
Will he betray himself?)  VOLT. 
Whom, equally,  
I have abused, out of most covetous ends—  (CORV. 
The man is mad?  CORB. 
What's that!  CORV. 
He is possessed.)  VOLT. 
For which; now struck in conscience, here I prostrate  
myself, at your offended feet, for pardon.  AVO. 1.2. 
Arise.  CEL. 
O heaven, how just thou art!  VOLP. 
I'm caught  
I'mine own noose—  CORV. 
Be constant, sir, nought now  
Can help, but impudence.  AVO. 1. 
Speak forward.  COM. 
Silence.  VOLT. 
It is not passion in me, reverend fathers,  
But only conscience, conscience my good sires,  
That makes me, now, tell truth. That parasite,  
That knave hath been the instrument of all.  AVO. 
Where is that knave? fetch him.  VOLP. 
I go.  CORV. 
Grave fathers,  
This man's distracted; he confessed it, now:  
For, hoping to be old VOLPONE'S heir,  
Who now is dead—  AVOC. 3. 
How?  AVO. 2. 
Is VOLPONE dead?  CORV. 
Dead since, grave fathers—  BON. 
O, sure vengeance!  AVO. 1. 
Stay,  
Then, he was no deceiver?  VOLT. 
O, no, none:  
The parasite, grave fathers.  CORV. 
He does speak,  
Out of mere envy, 'cause the servant's made  
The thing, he gaped for; please your fatherhoods,  
This is the truth: though, I'll not justify  
The other, but he may be somedeal faulty.  VOLT. 
ay, to your hopes, as well as mine, CORVINO:  
But I'll use modesty. Pleaseth your wisdoms  
To view these certain notes, and but confer them;  
As I hope favour, they shall speak clear truth.  CORV. 
The devil has entered him!  BON. 
Or bides in you.  AVO. 4. 
We have done ill, by a public officer,  
To send for him, if he be heir.  AVO. 2. 
For whom?  AVO. 4. 
Him, that they call the parasite.  AVO. 3. 
'Tis true;  
He is a man, of great estate, now left.  AVO. 4. 
Go you, and learn his name; and say, the court  
entreats his presence, here; but, to the clearing  
Of some few doubts.  AVO. 2. 
This same's a labyrinth!  AVO. 1. 
Stand you unto your first report?  CORV. 
My state,  
My life, my fame—  BON. 
(Where is't?)  CORV. 
Are at the stake.  AVO. 1. 
Is yours so too?  CORB. 
The advocate's a knave:  
And has a forked tongue—  AVO. 2. 
(Speak to the point.)  CORB. 
So is the parasite, too.  AVO. 1. 
This is confusion.  VOLT. 
I do beseech your fatherhoods, read but those;  CORV. 
And credit nothing, the false spirit hath writ:  
It cannot be, but he is possessed, grave fathers.   

Act V. Scene XI.  VOLPONE, NANO, ANDROGINO, CASTRONE. 
TO make a snare, for mine own neck! and run  
My head into it, wilfully! with laughter!  
When I had newly scaped, was free, and clear!  
Out of mere wantonness! O, the dull devil  
Was in this brain of mine, when I devised it;  
And MOSCA gave it second: he must now  
Help to sear up this vain, or we bleed dead.  
How now! who let you lose? whither go you, now?  
What? to buy gingerbread? or to drown kitlings?  NAN. 
Sir, master MOSCA called us out of doors,  
And bid us all go play, and took the keys.  AND. 
Yes.  VOLP. 
Did master MOSCA take the keys? why, so!  
I am farther, in. These are my fine conceits!  
I must be merry, with a mischief to me!  
What a vile wretch was I, that could not bear  
My fortune soberly? I must ha' my crotchets?  
And my conundrums! well, go you, and seek him:  
His meaning may be truer, than my fear.  
Bid him, he straight come to me, to the court;  
Thither will I, and, if 't be possible,  
Unscrew my advocate, upon new hopes:  
When I provoked him, than I lost myself.   

Act V. Scene XII.  AVOCATORI, etc. 
THese things can near be reconciled. He, here,  
Professeth, that the gentleman was wronged;  
And that the gentlewoman was brought thither,  
Forced by her husband: and there left.  VOLT. 
Most true.  CEL. 
How ready is heaven to those, that pray!  AVO. 1. 
But, that  
VOLPONE would have ravished her, he holds  
Utterly false; knowing his impotence.  CORV. 
Grave fathers, he is possessed; again, I say,  
Possessed: nay, if there be possession,  
And obsession, he has both.  AVO. 3. 
Here comes our officer.  VOLP. 
The parasite will straight be, here, grave fathers.  AVO. 4. 
You might invent some other name, sir varlet.  AVO. 3. 
Did not the notary meet him?  VOLP. 
Not that I know.  AVO. 4. 
His coming will clear all.  AVO. 2. 
Yet it is misty.  VOLT. 
Volpone whispers the Advocate. May't please your father hoods—  VOLP. 
Sir, the parasite  
Willed me to tell you, that his master lives;  
That you are still the man; your hopes the same;  
And this was, only a jest—  VOLT. 
How?  VOLP. 
Sir, to try  
If you were, firm, and how you stood affected.  VOLT. 
Art' sure he lives?  VOLP. 
Do I live, sir?  VOLT. 
O me!  
I was too violent.  VOLP. 
Sir, you may redeem it,  
They said, you were possessed; fall down, and seem so:  
Voltore falls. I'll help to make it good. God bless the man!  
(Stop your wind hard, and swell) see, see, see, see!  
He vomits crooked pings! his eyes are set,  
Like a dead hares, hung in a poulter's shop!  
His mouth's running away! do you see, signor?  
Now, 'tis in his belly.  (CORV. 
ay, the devil!)  VOLP. 
Now, in his throat.  (CORV. 
ay, I perceive it plain.)  VOLP. 
'Twill out, 'twill out; stand clear. See, where it flies!  
In shape of a blue toad, with a bats wings!  
Do not you see it, sir?  CORB. 
What? I think I do.  CORV. 
'Tis too manifest.  VOLP. 
Look! he comes t'himselfe!  VOLT. 
Where am I?  VOLP. 
Take good heart, the worst is past, sir.  
You are dispossessed.  AVO 1 
What accident is this?  AVO. 
Sudden, and full of wonder!  AVO. 3. 
If he were.  
Possessed, as it appears, all this is nothing.  CORV. 
He has been, often, subject to these fits,  AVO. 1. 
Show him that writing, do you know it, sir?  VOLP. 
Deny it, sir, forswear it, know it not.  VOLT. 
Yes, I do know it well, it is my hand:  
But all, that it contains, is false.  BON. 3. 
O practice!  AVO. 2. 
What maze is this!  AVO. 1. 
Is he not guilty, then,  
Whom you, there, name the parasite?  VOLT. 
Grave fathers,  
No more then, his good patron, old VOLPONE.  AVO. 4. 
Why, he is dead?  VOLT. 
O no, my honoured fathers.  
He lives—  AVO. 1. 
How! lives?  VOLT. 
Lives.  AVO. 2. 
This is subtler, yet!  AVO. 3. 
You said, he was dead?  VOLT. 
Never.  AVO. 3. 
You said so?  CORV. 
I heard so.  AVO. 4. 
Here comes the gentleman make him way.  AVO. 3. 
A stool.  AVOC. 4. 
A proper man! and were VOLPONE dead,  
A fit match for my daughter.  AVOC. 3. 
Give him way.  VOLP. 
MOSCA, I was almost lost, the Advocate  
Had betrayed all; but, now, it is recovered:  
all's o' the hinge again— say, I am living.  MOS. 
What busy knave is this! most reverend fathers,  
I sooner, had attended your grave pleasures,  
But that my order, for the funeral  
Of my dear patron did require me—  VOLP. 
(MOSCA!)  MOS. 
Whom I intend to bury, like a gentleman.  VOLP. 
ay, quick, and cozen me of all.  AVO. 2. 
Still stranger!  
More intricate!  AVO. 1. 
And come about again!  AVO. 4. 
It is a match, my daughter is bestowed.  MOS. 
(Will you gi'me half?  VOLP. 
First, I'll be hanged.  MOS. 
I know,  
Your voice is good, cry not so loud)  AVO. 1. 
Demand  
The Advocate. Sir, did not you affirm,  
VOLPONE was alive?  VOLP. 
Yes, and he is;  
This gent'man told me so, (thou shalt have half.)  MOS. 
Whose drunkard is this same? speak some, that know him:  
I never saw his face. (I cannot now  
Afford it you so cheap.  VOLP. 
No?)  AVO 1. 
What say you?  VOLT. 
The officer told me.  VOLP. 
I did, grave fathers,  
And will maintain, he lives, with mine own life.  
And, that this creature told me. (I was borne,  
With all good stars my enemies.)  MOS. 
Most grave fathers,  
If such an insolence, as this, must pass  
Upon me, I am silent: 'twas not this,  
For which you sent, I hope.  AVO. 2. 
Take him away.  (VOLP. 
MOSCA.)  AVO. 3. 
Let him be whipped.  (VOLP. 
Wilt thou betray me?  
cozen me?)  AOC. 3. 
And taught to bear himself  
Toward a person of his rank.  AVO. 4. 
Away.  MOS. 
I humbly thank your fatherhoods.  VOLP. 
Soft, soft: whipped?  
And lose all that I have? if I confess,  
It cannot be much more.  AVO. 4. 
Sir, are you married?  VOLP. 
They'll be allied, He puts off his disguise. anon; I must be resolute:  
The fox shall, here, uncase.  (MOS. 
Patron.)  VOLP. 
Nay, now,  
My ruins shall not come alone; your match  
I'll hinder sure: my substance shall not glue you,  
Nor screw you, into a family.  (MOS. 
Why, patron!)  VOLP. 
I am VOLPONE, and this is my knave;  
This, his own knave; this, avarice's fool;  
This, a Chimaera of wittal, fool, and knave;  
And, reverend fathers, since we all can hope  
Nought, but a sentence, let's not now despair it.  
You hear me brief.  CORV. 
May it please your fatherhoods—  COM. 
silence.  AVOC. 1. 
The knot is now undone, by miracle!  AVOC. 2. 
Nothing can be more clear.  AVO. 3. 
Or can more prove  
These innocent.  AVOC. 1. 
Give 'em their liberty.  BON. 
Heaven could not, long, let such gross crimes be hid.  AVOC. 2. 
If this be held the high way to get riches,  
May I be poor.  AVOC. 3. 
This 's not the gain, but torment.  AVOC. 1. 
These possess wealth, as sick men possess fevers,  
Which, truelier may be said to possess them.  AVOC. 2. 
disrobe that parasite.  CORV. MOS. 
Most honoured fathers.  AVOC. 1. 
Can you plead aught to stay the course of justice?  
If you can, speak.  CORV. VOLT. 
We beg favour,  CEL. 
And mercy.  AVOC. 1. 
You hurt your innocence, suing for the guilty.  
Stand forth; and, first, the parasite. You appear  
T' have been the chiefest minister, if not plotter,  
In all these lewd impostures; and now, lastly,  
Have, with your impudence, abused the court,  
And habit of a gentleman of Venice,  
Being a fellow of no birth, or blood:  
For which, our sentence is, first thou be whipped;  
Then live perpetual prisoner in our galleys.  VOLT. 
I thank you, for him.  MOS. 
Bane to thy wolvish nature.  AVOC. 1. 
Deliver him to the Saffi. Thou, VOLPONE,  
By blood, and rank a gentleman, canst not fall  
Under like censure; but our judgement on thee  
Is, that thy substance all be straight confiscate  
To the hospital, of the Incurabili:  
And, since the most was gotten by imposture,  
By feigning lame, gout, palsy, and such diseases,  
Thou art to lie in prison, cramped with irons,  
Till thou be'st sick, and lame indeed. Remove him.  VOLP. 
This is called mortifying of a fox.  AVOC. 1. 
Thou VOLTORE, to take away the scandal  
Thou hast given all worthy men, of thy profession,  
Art banished from their fellowship, and our state.  
CORBACCIO, bring him near. We here possess  
Thy son, of all thy state; and confine thee  
To the monastery of San' Spirito:  
Where, since thou knew'st not how to live well here,  
Thou shalt be learned to die well.  CORB. 
Ha! what said he?  COM. 
You shall know anon, sir.  AVOC. 
Thou CORVINO, shalt  
Be straight embarked from thine own house, and rowed  
Round about Venice, through the grand canal,  
Wearing a cap, with fair, long ass's ears,  
In stead of horns: and, so to mount (a paper  
Pined on thy breast) to the berlino—  CORV. 
Yes,  
And, have mine eyes beat out with stinking fish,  
Bruised fruit, and rotten eggs— 'Tis well. I'm glad,  
I shall not see my shame, yet.  AVOC. 1. 
And to expiate  
Thy wrongs done to thy wife, thou art to send her  
Home, to her father, with her dowry trebled:  
And these are all your judgements.  (ALL. 
Honoured fathers.)  AVOC. 1. 
Which may not be revoked. Now, you begin,  
When crimes are done, and past, and to be punished,  
To think what your crimes are: away with them.  
Let all, that see these vices thus rewarded,  
Take heart, and love to study 'em. mischiefs feed  
Like beasts, till they be fat, and then they bleed.  VOLPONE. 
THe seasoning of a play is the applause.  
Now, though the fox be punished by the laws,  
He, yet, doth hope there is no suffering due,  
For any fact, which he hath done 'gainst you;  
If there be, censure him: here he, doubtful, stands.  
If not, fare jovially, and clap your hands.   
THE END   

This Comedy was first acted, in the year 1605.  
By the king's majesties SERVANTS.  
The principal comedians were, 

RIC. BURBADGE.  
HEN. CONDEL.  
WILL. SLY..  
IOH. HEMINGS.  
IOH. LOWIN.  
ALEX. COOKE.    
With the allowance of the Master of revels.