BEN: jonson his VOLPONE Or THE fox.  — Simul& jucunda,& idonea dicere vitae. 
Printed for Thomas Thorppe. 1607.   

TO THE MOST NOBLE AND MOST AEQVALL SISTERS THE TWO FAMOVS universities, FOR THEIR LOVE AND ACCEPTANCE shown TO HIS poem IN THE PRESENTATION: BEN: jonson THE GRATEFVLL ACKNOWLEDGER DEDICATES BOTH IT, AND himself.  
There follows an Epistle, if you dare venture on the length.   

THE EPISTLE.  
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 more authority were satisfying, yet, it being an age, wherein Poëtry and the Professors of it hear so ill, on all sides, there will a reason bee looked for in the subject. It is certain, nor can it with any forehead be opposed) that the too-much licence of Poëtasters, in this time, hath much deformed their mistress; that, every day their manifold, and manifest ignorance doth stick unnatural reproaches vpon 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 à-squint, look toward the offices, and function of a poet, they will easily conclude to themselves, the impossibility of any mans being the good poet, without first being a good Man. He that is said to be able to inform yong-men to all good disciplines, inflame grownemen to all great virtues, keep old men in their best and supreme state, or as they decline to child-hood, recover them to their first strength; that comes forth the Interpreter, and Arbiter of Nature, a Teacher of things divine, no less then human, a Master in manners; and can alóne( or with a few) effect the business of Man-kind. This, I take him, is no subject for Pride, and Ignorance to exercise their railing rhetoric vpon. But, it will here be hastily answered, that the Writers of these dayes are other things; that, not onely 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-Poëtry, nothing but Ribaldry, Profanation, Blasphemy, al Licence of offence to God, and Man, is practisd. I dare not deny a great part of this( and am sorry, I dare not) because in some mens abortive Features( and would they had never boasted the light) it is ouer-true: But, that all are embarked in this bold adventure for Hell, is a most uncharitable thought, and, vtterd, a more malicious slander. For my particular, I can( and from a most clear conscience) affirm that I haue ever trembled to think toward the least profaneness; haue loathed the use of such foul, and vn-washd Baudr'y, 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 haue 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 Politiques, what Nation, Society, or general Order, or State I haue prouokd? what public Person? whether I haue not( in all these) preserved their dignity, as mine own person, safe? My works are red, allowed,( I speak of those that are entirely mine) look into them, what broad reproofs haue I used: Where haue I been particular? Where personal, except to a mimic, Cheater, bawd, or buffoon, creatures( for their insolences) worthy to be taxed? or to which of these so pointingly, as he might not, either ingeniously haue confessed, or wisely dissembled his disease? But it is not Rumour can make men guilty, much less entitle me, to other mens crimes. I know, that nothing can be so innocently writ, or carried, but maybe made obnoxious to construction; mary, 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 haue a Key for the deciphering of every thing, but let wise and noble Persons take heed how they bee too credulous, or give leave to these invading Interpreters to be ouer-familiar with their fames, who cunningly,& often, utter their own virulent malice, under other mens 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 clappes) care not whose living faces they entrench with their petulant stiles; may they do it, without a rival, for me: I choose rather to live grau'd in obscurity, then share with them, in so preposterous a famed. Nor can I blame the wishes of those grave, and wiser Patriotes, 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 retriu'd, with all other ridiculous, and exploded follies: then behold the wounds of private men, of Princes, and Nations. For as HORACE, makes Trebatius speak, in 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 misc'line interludes, what learned or liberal soul doth not already abhor? where nothing but the garbage of the time is vtter'd,& that with such impropriety of phrase, such plenty of solecisms, such dearth of sense, so bold prolepse's, so racked metaphor's, 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 famed,& the reputations of diverse honest,& 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 onely rap't me to present indignation, but made me studious, heretofore, and, by all my actions, to stand of, from them; which may most appear in this my latest work:( which you, most learned ARBITRESSES, haue seen, judged,& to my crown, approved) wherein I haue laboured, for their instruction, and amendment, to reduce, not onely 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 haue so much faith in me, to think it was done off industry: For with what ease I could haue 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 snafle in their mouths, that cry out, we never punish 'vice in our interludes &c. I took the more liberty; though not with out some lines of example drawn even in the ancients themselves, the goings out of whose comedies are not always joyful, but oftimes, the bawds, the Seruants, the rivals, yea and the maisters are mulcted: and fitly, it being the office of a Comick-POET to imitate iustice, and instruct to life, as well as purity of language, or stir up gentle affections. To which, vpon my next opportunity toward the examining& digesting of my notes, I shall speak more wealthily, and pay the World a debt.  
In the mean time( most reverenced SISTERS) as I haue 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 MVSES bee true to me, I shall raise the despised head of POETRY again,& stripping her out of those rotten and base rags, wherewith the Times haue adulterated her form, restore her to her primitive habit, feature, and majesty, and render her worthy to be embraced, and kist, of all the great and master Spirits of our World. As for the vile, and slothful, who never affencted 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: shee shall out of just rage incite her Seruants( who are Genus iritabile) to spout ink in their faces, that shall eat, father then their marrow, into their fames; and not CINNAMVS the Barber, with his art, shall be able to take out the brands, but they shall live, and be red, till the Wretches die, as Things worst deserving of themselves in chief, and then of all mankind.  
From my house in the Black-Friars this 11. of February. 1607.   

AD UTRAMQVE ACADEMIAM, De benjamin IONSONIO.  
HIc ille est primus, qui doctum drama BRITANNIS,  
GRAIORVM antiqua, et LATII monimenta Theatri,  
Tanquam explorator versans, foelicibus ausis  
Prebebit: Magnis ceptis Gemina astra fauete.  
Alterutrâ veteres contenti laud: Cothurnum hic,  
Atque pari soccum tractat Sol scenicus arte;  
Das VOLPONE iocos, fletus SEIANE dedisti.  
At si IONSONIAS mulctatas limit MVSAS  
Angustâ plangent quiquam: Vos, dicite, contrà,  
O nimiùm miseros quibus angles ANGLICA lingua  
Aut non sat nota est; aut queis( seu trans mere natis)  
Haud nota omninò: Vegetet cum tempore Vates,  
Mutabit patriam, fietque ipse ANGLVS APOLLO.  
E. B.   

Amicissimo,& meritissimo BEN: jonson.  
QVod arte ausus es hîc tuâ, POETA,  
Si auderent hominum Deique juris  
Consulti, veteres sequi aemularierque,  
O omnes saperemus ad salutem.  
His said sunt veteres araneosi;  
Tam nemo veterum est sequutor, vt tu  
Illos quòd sequeris nouator audis.  
Fac tamen quod agis; tuíque primâ  
Libri canitie induantur horâ:  
Nam cartis pueritia est neganda,  
Nascantúrque senes, oportet, illi  
Libri, queis dare vis perennitatem.  
Priscis, ingenium facit, labórque  
Te parem; hos superes, vt& futuros,  
Ex nostrâ vitiositate sumas,  
Quâ priscos superamus,& futuros.  
I. D.   

To my friend Mr. jonson. epigram.  
jonson, to tell the world what I to thee  
Am, 'tis Friend. Not to praise, nor usher forth  
Thee, or thy work, as if it needed me  
sand I these ri'mes to add ought to thy worth:  
So should I flatter myself, and not thine;  
For there were truth on thy side, none on mine.   

To the Reader. Upon the work.  

IF thou darest bite this fox, then red my ri'mes;  
Thou guilty art of some of these foul crimes:  
Which, else, are neither his, nor thine, but Times.   

If thou dost like it, well; it will imply  
Thou lik'st with iudgement, or best company:  
And he, that doth not so, doth yet envy.   

The ancient forms reduced, as in this age  
The vices, are; and bare-faced on the stage:  
So boyes were taught t' abhor seen Dronkards rage.   
T. R.   

To my dear friend, Mr. benjamin jonson, vpon his fox.  
IF it might stand with Iustice, to allow  
The swift conversion of all follies; now,  
Such is my Mercy, that I could admit  
All sorts should equally approve the wit,  
Of this thy even work: whose growing famed  
Shall raise thee high, and thou it, with thy Name.  
And did not Manners, and my love command  
me to forbear to make those understand,  
whom thou, perhaps, hast in thy wiser doom  
Long since, firmly resolved, shall never come  
To know more then they do; I would haue shown  
To all the world, the Art, which thou alone  
Hast taught our tongue, the rules of Time, of Place,  
And other Rites, delivered, with the grace  
Of comic style, which onely, is far more,  
Then any English Stage hath known before.  
But since our subtle Gallants think it good  
To like of nought, that may be understood,  
Least they should be disprou'd; or haue, at best,  
Stomacks so raw, that nothing can digest  
But what's obscene, or barks: Let us desire  
They may continue, simply, to admire  
Fine clothes, and strange words; and may live, in age,  
To see themselves ill-brought vpon the Stage,  
And like it. Whilst thy bold, and knowing Muse  
contemns all praise, but such as thou wouldst choose.  
F. B.   

To my good friend. Mr. jonson.  
THE strange new follies of this idle age,  
In strange new forms, presented on the Stage  
By thy quick Muse, so pleased judicious eyes;  
That th' once-admired ancient comedies  
Fashions, like clothes grown out of fashion, lay  
locked up from use: until thy fox birth-day,  
In an old garb, shew'd so much art, and wit,  
As they the laurel gave to thee, and it.  
D. D.   

To the ingenious Poet.  
THe fox, that eased thee of thy modest fears,  
And earthed himself, alive, into our ears,  
Will so, in death, commend his worth, and thee  
As neither can, by praises, mended bee:  
Tis friendly folly, thou mayst thank, and blame,  
To praise a book, whose forehead bears thy Name.  
Then jonson, onely this( among the rest)  
I, ever, haue observed, thy last work's best:  
pace, gently on; thy worth, yet higher, raise;  
Till thou writ best, as well as the best plays.  
I. C.   

To his dear Friend, benjamin jonson his VOLPONE.  
COme, yet, more forth, VOLPONE, and thy chase  
perform to al length, for thy breath will serve thee;  
The usurer shal, never, wear thy case▪  
Men do not hunt to kill, but to preserve thee.  
Before the bést hounds, thou dost, still, but play;  
And, for our whelps, alas, they yelp in vain:  
Thou hast no earth; thou hunt'st the milk-white way;  
And, through th' elysian fields, dost make thy train.  
And as the symbol of lifes Guard, the HARE,  
That, sleeping, wakes; and, for her fear, was saf't.  
So, thou shalt be aduaunc'd, and made a star,  
Pole to all wits, believed in, for thy craft.  
In which the Scenes both mark, and Mystery  
Is hit, and sounded, to please best, and worst;  
To all which, since thou makest so sweet a cry,  
Take all thy best fare, and be nothing cursed.  
G. C.   

To my worthily-esteemed Mr. Ben: jonson.  
VOLPONE now is dead indeed, and lies  
Exposed to the censure of all eyes,  
And mouth's; Now he hath run his train, and shown  
His subtle body, where he best was known;  
In both Minerua's cities: he doth yield,  
His well-form'd-limbes vpon this open field.  
Who, if they now appear so faire in sight,  
How did they, when they were endew'd with wright  
Of Action? Yet in thy praise let this be red,  
The fox will live, when all his hounds be dead.  
E. S.   

To the true Mr. in his Art, B. jonson.  
forgive thy friends; they would, but cannot praise,  
enough' the wit, art, language of thy plays:  
forgive thy foes; they will not praise thee. Why?  
Thy Fate hath thought it best, they should envy.  
Faith, for thy FOXES sake, forgive then those  
Who are nor worthy to be friends, nor foes.  
Or, for their own brave sake, let them be still  
fools at thy mercy, and like what they will,  
I. F.   

THE PERSONS OF THE COMOEDYE.  

VOLPONE, a Magnifico.  
MOSCA, his Parasite.  
VOLTORE, an advocate.  
CORBACCIO, an old Gentleman.  
CORVINO, a merchant.  
AVOCATORI. 4. Magistrates.  
NOTARIO, the Register.  
NANO, a dwarf.  
CASTRONE, an Eunuch.  
GREGE.  
POLITIQVE WOVLD-BEE, a Knight.  
PEREGRINE, a Gent-trauailer.  
BONARIO, a young Gentleman.  
FINE MADA. WOVLD-BEE; the Knights wife.  
CELIA, the Merchants wife.  
COMMAND ADORI, Officers.  
MERCATORI. 3. Merchants.  
ANDROGYNO, a Hermaphrodite.  
SERVITORE, a seruant.  
WOMEN. 2.    

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 crosse-plots, which ope' themselves, are  told.  
New tricks for safety, are sought; They thrive: When, bold,  
Each tempt's th'other again, and all are sold.   

The prologue.  
NOw, luck God sand us, and a little wit  
will serve, to make our PLAY hit;  
( According to the palates of the season)  
Here is ri'me, not empty of reason:  
This we were bid to credit, from our poet,  
Whose true scope, if you would know it,  
In all his Poëmes, still, hath been this measure,  
To mix profit, with your pleasure;  
And not as some( whose throats their envy failing)  
cry hoarcely, 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 monthes since, no feature;  
And, though he dares give them five lives to mend it,  
'tis known, five weekes fully penned it:  
From his own hand, without a Co-adiutor,  
novice, Iorney-man, 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 guile, old ends reciting,  
To stop gappes in his loose writing;  
With such a deal of monstrous, and forced action:  
As might make Bethlem 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 haue designed,  
The laws of Time, Place, Persons he observeth,  
From no needful Rule he swerueth.  
All gull, and coppresse, from his ink, he drayneth,  
only, a little salt remaineth;  
Wherewith, he'll rub your cheeks, till( read with laughter)  
They shall look fresh, a week after.   

THE fox.  

ACT, 1.  

SCENE. 1.  VOLPONE. MOSCA. 
GOod morning to the Day; and, next, my Gold:  
Open the shrine, that I may see my Saint.  
hail the worlds soul, and mine. More glad then is  
The teeming earth, to see the longd-for sun  
peep through the horns of the celestial Ram,  
Am I, to view thy splendour, darkening his:  
That lying here, amongst my other hoordes,  
show'st like a flamme, by night; or like the Day  
Strooke out of Chaos, when all darkness fled  
unto the center. O thou son of Sol,  
( But brighter then 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 haue the best;  
Thou being the best of things: and far transcending  
All style of ioy, in children, parents, friends,  
Or any other waking dream on earth.  
Thy looks when they to Venus did ascribe,  
They should haue given her twenty thousand Cupids;  
Such are thy beauties, and our loues. dear Saint,  
Riches, the dumb God, that giv'st all men tongues;  
That canst do nought, and yet makest men do all things;  
The price of souls; even hell, with thee to boot,  
Is made worth heaven. Thou art virtue, famed,  
Honor, 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, then wisdom is in nature.  VOLP. 
True, my beloved Mosca. Yet, I glory  
More in the cunning purchase of my wealth,  
Then in the glad po●session; since I gain  
No cowmon way: I use no trade, no venture;  
I wound no earth with plowshares; fat no beasts  
To feed the Shambles; haue no mills for iron,  
oil, corn, or men, to grind 'hem 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 vsure 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 nêre 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 loathe, the widows, or the orphans tears  
Should wash your pavements; or their pityous cries  
Ring in your roofs: and beate the air, for vengeance.  VOLP. 
Right, Mosca, I do loathe it.  MOS. 
And besides, Sir,  
You are not like a 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 Lombards vinegar:  
You will not lye 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 houshold-trifle  
Your pleasure allows maint'nance.  VOLP. 
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 'hem make me sport. What should I do,  
But cocker up my Genius, and live free  
To all delights, my fortune calls me too?  
I haue no wife, no parent, child, ally,  
To give my substance too; 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, sand me plate, coin, jewels,  
With hope, that when I die,( which they expect  
Each greedy minute) it shall then return  
Ten-fold vpon them; whilst some, covetous  
above the rest, seek to engross me, whole,  
And counter-worke, 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 'hem into profit,  
To look vpon 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. 1. SCENE. 2.  NANO. ANDROGYNO. CASTR●NE. 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 Pithagoras,  
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-lockt Euphorbus, who was killed, in good fashion,  
At the siege of old Troy, by the cuckolded of Sparta.  
Hermotimus was next( I find it, in my Chartâ)  
To whom it did pass, where no sooner it was missing,  
But with one Pirrhus, of Delos, it learned to go a fishing:  
And thence, did it enter the Sophist of Greece.  
From Pithagore, 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 rel●te it)  
Since, Kings, Knights,& Beggars, knaves, Lords& fools got it,  
Besides, ox, and ass, camel, Mule, Goat, and Brock,  
In all which it hath spoken, as in the cobblers Cock.  
But I come not here, to discourse of that matter,  
Or h●s 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 dayes 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 venter'd?  AND. 
On fish, when first, a Carthusian I entered.  NAN. 
Why, then thy dogmaticall Silence hath left thee?  AND. 
Of that an obstreperous Lawyer bereft me.  NAN. 
O wonderful change! when sir Lawyer forsook thee,  
For Pithagore's 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 an other:  
And will drop you forth a libel, or a sanctified lye,  
Betwixt every spooneful of a nativity 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 then 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 varie?  AND. 
Alas, those pleasures be stale, and forsaken;  
No, tis your fool, wherewith I am so taken,  
The onely one Creature, that I can call blessed:  
For all other forms I haue proved most distressed.  NAN. 
spoken true, as thou wert in Pithagoras still.  
This learned opinion we celebrate will,  
Fellow Eunuch( as behooves us) with all our wit, and arte,  
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 onely Nation  
Worth mens envy, or admiration;  
Free from care, or sorrow-taking,  
themselves, and others merry making:  
All they speak, or do, is sterling.  
Your fool, he is your great mans darling,  
And your Ladies sport, and pleasure;  
Tongue, and babble are his treasure.  
His very 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 shall wait vpon the fool:  
O, who would not bee  
he, he, he?   VOLP. 
Who's that? away, look Mosca.  MOS. 
fool, be gon,  
'tis signor Voltore, the advocate,  
I know him, by his knock.  VOLP. 
Fetch me my gown,  
My furs, and night-caps; say, my couch is changing:  
And let him entertain himself, a while,  
Within i' th' gallery. Now, now, my clients  
begin their visitation; Vulture, Kite,  
raven, and gor-Crowe, all my birds of prey,  
That think me turning carcase, now they come:  
I am not for 'hem yet. How now? the news?  MOS. 
A piece of plate, Sir.  VOLP. 
Of what bigness?  MOS. 
Huge,  
massy, and antic, with your name inscribed,  
And arms engraven.  VOLP. 
Good, And not a fox  
stretched on the earth, with fine delusiue sleights,  
Mocking a gaping Crow? ha, Mosca?  MOS. 
sharp, Sir.  VOLP. 
give me my furs. Why dost thou laugh so, man?  MOS. 
I cannot choose, Sir, when I apprehended  
What thoughts he has( within) now, as he walks:  
That this might be the last gift, he should give;  
That this would fetch you; if you died to day,  
And gave him all, what he should be to morrow;  
What large return would come of all his venters;  
How he should worshipped bee, and reuerenc'd;  
Ride, with his furs, and foote-cloths; waited on  
By herds of fools, and clients; haue clear way  
Made for his moil, as lettered as himself;  
Be called the great, and learned advocate:  
And then concludes, there's nought impossible.  VOLP. 
Yes, to be learned, Mosca;  MOS. 
O no: rich  
Implies it. Hood an ass, with reverend purple,  
So you can hid his two ambitious ears,  
And, he shall pass for a cathedrall Doctor.  VOLP. 
My caps, my caps, good Mosca, fetch him in.  MOS. 
Stay, Sir, your ointment for your eyes.  VOLP. 
That's true;  
Dispatch, dispatch: I long to haue possession  
Of my new present.  MOS. 
That, and thousands more,  
I hope, to see you lord of.  VOLP. 
Thankes, kind Mosca.  MOS. 
And that, when I am lost in blended dust,  
And hundred such, as I am, in succession—  VOLP. 
Nay, that were too much, Mosca.  MOS. 
You shall live,  
Still, to delude these Harpyeis.  VOLP. 
loving Mosca,  
'tis well, my pillow now, and let him enter.  
Now, my feigned Cough, my Pthisick, and my gout,  
My apoplexy, palsy, and Catarrhe,  
help, with your forced functions, this my posture,  
Wherein, this three year, I haue milked their hopes.  
He comes, I hear him( vh, vh, vh, vh) o.   

ACT. 1. SCENE. 3.  MOSCA. VOLTORE. VOLPONE. 
YOu still are, what you were, Sir. Onely 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. 
Sr. signor Voltore is come, this morning,  
To visit you.  VOLP. 
I thank him.  MOS. 
And hath brought  
A piece of antic plate, bought of St. 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 thankes you, and desires you see him often.  VOLP. 
Mosca.  MO. 
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 Sr. would to heaven,  
I could as well give health to you, as that plate.  VOLP. 
You give Sr. what you can. I thank you. Your love  
Hath taste in this, and shall not be vnanswer'd.  
I pray you see me often.  VOLT. 
Yes, I shall sir.  VOLP. 
Be not far from me.  MOS. 
Do you observe that sir?  VOLP. 
harken 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 Sr. you will vouchsafe  
To writ me, i'your family. All my hopes,  
Depend vpon your worship; I am lost,  
Except the rising sun do shine on me.  VOLT. 
It shall both shine, and warm thee, Mosca.  MOS. 
Sr.  
I am a man, that haue 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?  
His body is beholding to such a bad face.  VOLP. 
Who's there? my couch, Away, look Nano, see:  
give me my caps, first— go, inquire. Now, Cupid  
sand it be Mosca, and with faire return.  NAN. 
It is the beauteous Madam—  VOLP. 
Would-bee? 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 past I fear  
A second hell too, that my loathing this  
Will quiter expel my appetite to the other:  
Would she were taki●g, now, her tedious leave.  
Lord, how it threats me, what I am to suffer!   

ACT. 3. SCENE. 4.  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, I, am dressed  
Most favourably, to day, it is no matter,  
'tis well enough. look, see, these petulant things,  
How they haue 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  
Then 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, shee'll beate her women,  
Because her nose is read.  LAD. 
I pray you, view  
This tyre, forsooth; are all things apt, or no?  WOM. 
One hair a little, here, sticks out, forsooth.  LAD. 
Do's't so forsooth? and where was your dear sight  
When it did so, forsooth? what now? bird-eyd?  
And you too? pray you both approach, and mend it.  
Now( by that light) I muse, yo' are not ashamed,  
I, that haue preached these things, so oft, unto you,  
red you the principles, a●gu'd all the grounds,  
Disputed every fitness, every grace,  
called you to council of so frequent dressings—  ( NAN. 
More carefully, then of your famed, or honor)  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 to course too, it's no matter.  
Good-Sir, you'll give 'hem 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 entred, now, my house,  
And, with the dreadful tempest of her breath,  
Did cleave my roof asunder.  LAD. 
Beleeue me, and I  
Had the most fearful dream, could I remember't—  VOLP. 
Out on my fate; I ha'giu'n her the occasion  
How to torment me: shee will tell me hers.  LAD. 
Me thought, 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.  
Seede-pearle were good now, boiled with sirrope of apple,  
Tincture of Gold, and Currall, Citron-pills,  
Your elecampane roote, Mirobalanes—  VOLP. 
Ay me, I haue tâne a grasse-hopper by the wing.  LAD. 
Burnt silk, and Amber, you haue Muscadell  
Good i'the house—  VOLP. 
You will not drink, and part?  LAD. 
No, fear not that. I doubt, wee shall not get  
Some English saffron( half a dram would serve)  
Your sixteen cloves, a little musk, dried mints,  
bugloss, and barley-meale—  VOLP. 
Shee's in again,  
Before I fayn'd diseases, now I haue 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 Poultise?  VOLP. 
No, no, no;  
I'am very well: you need prescribe no more.  LAD. 
I haue, a little, studied physic; but, now,  
I' am all for music: save, i'the forenoones,  
An hour, or two, for painting. I would haue  
A Lady, indeed, t'haue all, Letters, and Artes,  
Be able to discourse, to writ, to paint,  
But principal( as Plato holds) your music  
( And, so does wise Pithagoras, I take it)  
Is your true rapture; when there is concent  
In face, in voice, and clothes: and is, indeed,  
Our sexes chiefest ornament.  VOLP. 
The poet,  
As old in time, as Plato, and as knowing,  
says that your highest female grace is Silence.  LAD. 
Which o'your Poëts? Petrarch? or Tasso?' or Dante?  
Guerrini? Ariosto? Aretine?  
Cieco di Hadria? I haue red them all.  VOLP. 
Is every thing a cause, to my destruction?  LAD. 
I think, I ha' two or three of'hem, about me.  VOLP. 
The sun, the sea will sooner, both, stand still,  
Then her eternal tongue; nothing can scape it.  LAD. 
Here's Pastor Fidc-  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 Montagnié;  
He has so modern, and facile a vein,  
Fitting the time, and catching the Court-eare.  
Your P●tr●rch is more passionate, yet he,  
In d●yes of So●●tti●●, trusted 'hem, with much:  
D●●● is hard, and few can understand him.  
But, f●r a desperate wit, there's A●eti●●;  
O●●ly, his pi●●ur●s are a little obscene—  
You mark me not?  VOLP. 
alas▪ my mind perturb'd.  LAD. 
Why in such cases we must cure ourselves,  
Make use of our Phil●sophie—  VOLP. 
O'ay me.  LAD. 
And, as we find our passions do rebel,  
Encounter 'hem with reason; or divert 'hem,  
By g●uing scope unto some other humour  
Of lesser danger: As, in politic bodies,  
There's nothing, more▪ doth overwhelm the iudgment,  
And clouds the understanding, then too much  
settling, and fixing, and( as 't were) subsiding  
Vpon one object. For the incorporating  
Of these same outward things, into that part,  
Which we call mental, leaves some certain faces,  
That stop the organ●, 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 dayes; and make you well:  
Laugh, and be lusty.  VOLP. 
My good ●●gell save me.  LAD. 
There was but one sole man, in all the world,  
With whom I ere could sympathise; and he.  
Would lye you often three, four houres together,  
To hear me speak: and be( sometime) so rap't,  
As he would answer me, quiter from the purpose,  
Like you, and you are like him, just. Ile discourse  
( And 't be but only, Sir, to bring you asleep)  
How we did spend our time, and loues, together,  
For some six yeares.  VOLP. 
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh.  LAD. 
For we were Coaetanei, and brought up—  VOLP. 
Some power▪ some fate, some fortune rescue me.   

ACT. 3. SCENE. 5.  MOSCA. LADY. VOLPONE. 
GOD save you, Madam.  LAD. 
Good Sir.  VOLP. 
Mosc●? welcome,  
Welcome to my redemption.  MOS. 
Why, Sir?  VOLP. 
Oh,  
Rid me of this my torture, quickly there;  
My M●dam, with the everlasting voice:  
The Bells, in time of pestilence, nêre made  
Like noise, or were in that perpetual motion;  
The Cock-pit comes not near it. All my house,  
But now, steam'd like a bath, with her thick breath.  
A Lawyer could not haue been heard; nor scarce  
Another Woman such a hail of words  
She has let fall. For hells sake, rid her hence.  MOS. 
Has she presented?  VOLP. 
O, I do not care,  
I'll take her absence, vpon 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. 
mary,  
Where yet, if you make hast you may apprehended him,  
Rowing vpon the water in a gondole,  
With the most cunning courtesan, of Venice.  LAD. 
Is 't true?  MOS. 
Purs●e 'hem, and beleeue your eyes:  
leave me, to make your gift. I knew, 'twould take.  
For lightly, they, that use themselves most licence,  
Are still m●st jealous.  VOLP. 
Mosca, hearty thanks,  
For thy quick fiction, and delivery of me.  
Now, to my hopes, what saist 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,  
Corbacci● will arrive strait, with the Will:  
When he is gone, Ile tell you more.  VOLP. 
My blood,  
My spirits are return'd; I am alive:  
And like your wanton gam'ster, at Primero,  
Whose thought had whispered to him not go less,  
Me thinks I lye, and draw— for an encounter.   

ACT. 3. SCENE. 6.  MOSCA. BONARIO. 
SIr, here concealed, you may here all. But pray you  
Haue patience, 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. 3. SCENE. 7.  moscow. CORVINO. CELIA. BONARIO. VOLPONE. 
DEath on me! you are come to soon, what meant you?  
Did not I say, I would sand?  CORV. 
Yes, but I feared  
You might forget it, and then they prevent vs.  MOS. 
prevent? did ere man hast so, for his horns?  
A Courtier would not ply it so, for a place.  
Well, now there's no helping it, stay here;  
Ile presently return.  CORV. 
Where are you, Celia?  
You know not, wherefore I haue brought you hither?  CEL. 
Not well, except you  told me.  CORV. 
Now, I will:  
hark hither.  MOS. 
Sir, your father hath sent word,  
It will be half an hour, ere he come;  
And therefore, if you please to walk, the while,  
Into that gallery— at the vpper end,  
There are some books, to entertain the time:  
And Ile take care, no man shall come unto you, Sir.  BON. 
Yes, I will stay there; I do doubt this fellow.  MOS. 
There, he is faire enough; he can hear nothing:  
And, for his father, I can keep him of.  CORV. 
Nay, now, there is no starting back; and therefore,  
resolve vpon it: I haue 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. 
Beleeue it, I haue no such humour, I.  
All that I speak, I mean; yet I am not mad:  
Not horne-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. 
I'haue  told you reasons;  
What the Phisitians haue set down; how much,  
It may concern me; what my engagements are;  
My means; and the necessity of those means,  
For my recovery: wherefore, if you bee  
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 more 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 meate  
With others fingers; onely 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 entred him?  CORV. 
And for your famed,  
That's such a ligg●; as if I would go tell it,  
cry it, on the Piazz●! 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 stil, 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 red Ar●tine, conned all his prints,  
Knew every quirk within lusts labyrinth,  
And were professed critic, in lechery;  
And I would look vpon him, and applaud him,  
This were a sin: but here, tis contrary,  
A pious work, more charity, for physic,  
And honest polity, to assure mine own.  CEL. 
O heaven, canst thou suffer such a change?  VOLP. 
Thou art mine honor, Mosca and my pride,  
My ioy, my tickling my delight: go, bring' hem.  MOS. 
Please you draw near, Sir.  CORV. 
Come on, what—  
You will not be rebellious? By that light—  MOS. 
Sir, signor Co●uino, 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. 
Thankes, sweet Mosca,  MOS. 
Freely, vna— sk'd, or vn— entreated—  COR. 
Well.  MOS. 
( As the true, fervent instance of his love)  
His own most faire, and proper wife; the beauty,  
Onely of price, in Veni●●—  CORV. 
'tis well urged.  MOS. 
To bee your comfortresse, and to preserve you.  VOLP. 
alas, I' am past already. pray you, thank' him,  
For his good care, and promptness. But for that,  
Tis a vain labour, eene to fight, 'gainst heaven;  
Applying fire to a ston:( uh, uh, uh, uh,)  
Making a dead leaf grow again. I take  
His wishes gently, though; and, you may tell him,  
What I haue done for him: Mary, my state is hop●●esse.  
Will him, to pray for me; and t'use his fortune,  
With reverence, when he comes to it.  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; ripp up  
Thy mouth, unto thine ears; and slit thy nose,  
Like a ●aw rotchet— Do not tempt me, come,  
Yeld, I am loth—( 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 Aqua-fortis,  
And burning cor'siues, on this stubborn breast.  
Now, by the blood, thou hast incensed, Ile do't.  CEL. 
Sir, what you please, you may, I am your Martyr.  CORV. 
Bee not thus obstinate, I ha' not deserved it:  
think, who it is, entreats you. pray thee, sweet;  
( Good' faith) thou shalt haue 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, bee aduis'd.  CORV. 
No, no.  
She has watched her time. God's precious— this is skiruy;  
'tis very skiruie: And you are—  MOS. 
Nay, good, Sir.  CORV. 
An errand Locust, by heaven, a Locust. Whore,  
Crocodile, that hast thy tears prepared,  
Expecting how thou'lt bid hem flow.  MOS. 
Nay, pray you, Sir,  
Shee will consider.  CEL. 
Would my life would serve  
To satisfy—  CORV. 
( S' death) if she would but speak to him,  
And save my reputation, 'twere somewhat;  
But, spitefully to affect my utter ruin:  MOS. 
I, now you haue put your fortune, in her hands.  
Why i' faith, it is her modesty, I must quit her;  
If you were absent, shee 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; Ile say no more:  
If not, esteem yourself as lost,— Nay, stay there.  CEL. 
O God, and his good Angells! whether, whether  
Is shane fled human breasts? that, with such ease,  
Men dare put of your honors, and their own?  
Is that, which ever was a cause of life,  
Now placed beneath the basest circumstance?  
And modesty an exile made, for money?  VOL. 
I, in Coruine, and such earth-fed mindes,  
That never tasted the true heaven of love.  
Assure thee, Celia, he that would sell thee,  
Onely for hope of gain, and that uncertain,  
He would haue sold his part of Paradise  
For ready money, had he met a Cope-man.  
Why art thou maz'd, to see me thus reviv'd?  
Rather, applaud thy beauties 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. I, before  
I would haue left my practise, for thy love,  
In varying figures, I would haue contended  
With the blew 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 Comoedie,  
For entertayment of the great valois)  
I acted young Antinoüs; and a racted  
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 wee 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.  
suins, that set, may rise again:  
But if, once, we loose this light,  
'Tis with us perpetual night.  
Why should wee defer our joys?  
famed, and rumour are but toys.  
Cannot wee delude the eyes  
Of a few poor houshold-spies?  
Or his easier ears beguile,  
Thus removed, by our wile?  
Tis no sin, loues fruits to steal;  
But the sweet thefts to reveal:  
To be taken, to be seen,  
These haue crimes accounted been.   CEL. 
Some serene blast me, or dire lightning strike  
This my offending face.  VOLP. 
Why droopes 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  
Then that the brave egyptian queen carrous'd:  
dissolve, and drink' hem. See, a Carbuncle,  
May put out both the eyes of our St mark;  
A diamond, would haue bought Lollia Paulina,  
When she came in, like star-light, hide with jewels,  
That were the spoils of provinces; take these,  
And wear, and loose 'hem: Yet, remaines 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 nightingalles,  
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 affencted  
With such delights; but I, whose innocence  
Is all I can think wealthy, or worth th'enjoying,  
And, which once lost, I haue nought to loose beyond it,  
Cannot be taken with these sensual baits:  
If you haue conscience—  VOLP. 
'tis the beggars virtue,  
If thou hast wisdom, hear me Celia.  
Thy baths shall be the juice of Iuly-flowers,  
Spirit of roses, and of violets,  
The milk of vnicornes, and panthers breath  
gathered in bags, and mixed with Cretan wines.  
Our drink shal 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 Ouids tales,  
Thou, like Europa now, and I like jove,  
Then I like Mars, and thou like Erycine,  
So, of the rest, till we haue quiter run through  
And wearied all the fables of the Gods.  
Then will I haue thee, in more modern forms,  
Attired like some sprightly Dame of France,  
brave Tuscan Lady, or proud Spanish beauty;  
Sometimes, unto the Persian Sophies Wife;  
Or the grand-Signiors mistress; and, for change,  
To one of our most arte-full courtesans,  
Or some quick Negro, or could Russian;  
And I will meet thee, in as many shapes:  
Where we may, so, trans-fuse our wandring souls,  
Out at our lips, and score up sums of pleasures,  
That the curious shall not know,  
How to tell them, as they flow;  
And the envious, when they find  
What there number is, be pinned.  CEL. 
If you haue 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 haue 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 shane I would forget it were—  
If you will deign me neither of these graces,  
Yet feed your wrath, Sir, rather then 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'ene to my bones, and marrow— Any thing,  
That may dis-fauour 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 could,  
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 haue done the act, and then haue parlee'd.  
yield, or Ile force thee.  CEL. 
O, just God.  VOLP. 
In vain-  BON. 
forbear, foul rauisher, libidinous swine,  
Free the forced lady, or thou diest, Impostor.  
But that I am loathe to snatch thy punishment  
Out of the hand of Iustice, thou shouldst, yet,  
Be made the timely sacrifice of vengeance,  
Before this Altar, and this dross, thy idol.  
Lady, lets quit the place, it is the den  
Of villainy; fear nought you haue 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 vn-masqu'd, vn-spirited, vn-done,  
betrayed to beggary, to infamy—   

ACT. 3, SCENE. 8.  MOSCA, VOLPONE. 
WHere shall I run, most wretched shane of men,  
To beate out my vn-luckie brains?  VOLP. 
Here, here.  
What? dost thou bleed?  MOS. 
O, that his well-driu'n sword  
Had been so courteous, to haue cleft me down,  
unto the navel; êre 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. 
Thou hast made me miserable.  MOS. 
And myself, Sir.  
Who would haue thought, he would haue hearkened, so?  VOLP. 
What shall wee do?  MOS. 
I know not, if my heart  
Could expiate the mischance, Il'd pluck it out.  
Will you be pleased to hang me? or cut my throat?  
And Ile requited you, Sir. Let's die like romans,  
Since wee haue lived, like Grecians.  VOLP. 
hark, who's there?  
I hear some footing, Officers, the Saffi,  
Come to apprehended us! I do feel the brand  
Hissing, already, at my fore-head: now,  
Mine ears are boring.  MOS. 
To your couch, Sir, you  
Make that place good, how ever. Guilty men  
Suspect, what they deserve still. signor Corbaccio!   

ACT. 3. SCENE. 9.  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;  
Entred 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 tenderd, I am onely yours.  CORB. 
How does he? will he die shortly, thinkest thou?  MOS. 
I fear  
He'll out-last May.  CORB. 
To day?  MOS. 
No, last-out May, Sir,  CORB. 
Couldst thou not gi' him a dram?  MOS. 
O by no means, Sir.  CORB. 
Nay, Ile not bid you.  VOLT. 
This 's 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, onely? and mine, also? are you not?  MOS. 
Who? I, Sir?  VOLT. 
You, Sir. What devise is this  
About a Will?  MOS. 
A plot for you, Sir.  VOLT. 
Come,  
Put not your foyst's vpon me, I shall sent' hem.  MOS. 
Did you not hear it?  VOLT. 
Yes, I hear, Corbacci●  
Hath made your Patron, there, his heir.  MOS. 
Tis true,  
By my devise, drawn to it by my plot,  
With hope—  VOLT. 
Your Patron should reciprocate?  
And, you haue promised?  MOS. 
For your good, I did, Sir.  
Nay more, I  told his son, brought, hide him here,  
Where he might hear his father pass the dead;  
being persuaded to it, by this thought, Sir,  
That the vnnaturallnesse, 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 vpon 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 onely 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 gr●at merit, Sir. And, see the change!  VOLT. 
Why? what success?  MOS. 
Most happlesse! you must help, Sir.  
Whilst wee expected th' old raven, in comes  
Coruino's wife, sent hither, by her husband—  VOLT. 
What, with a present?  MOS. 
No, Sir, on visitation;  
( Ile 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 would haue 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 bee sent for, streight.  MOS. 
Sir, Ile go fetch him.  VOLT. 
Bring him, to the Scrutinee.  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 council, in the plot:  
But fortune can, at any time, ore throw  
The projects of a hundred learned clerk, Sir.  CORB. 
What's that?  VOLTO, 
Wilt please you, Sir, to go along?  MOS. 
Patron, go in, and pray for our success.  VOLP. 
Need makes devotion: heaven your labour bless.    

ACT. 4.  

SCENE. 1.  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 haue set down,  
Onely, for this meridian, fit to be known  
Of your crude quarreler, and they are these.  
I will not touch▪ Sir, at your phrase, or clothes,  
For they are old.  PER. 
Sir, I haue better.  POL. 
Pardon  
I meant, as they are Theames.  PER. 
O, Sir, proceed:  
Ile slander you no more of wit, good Sir.  POL. 
First, for your garb, it must be grave, and serious,  
V●ry rescru'd, and locked; not tell a secret,  
On any terme●, not to your father; scarce  
A fable, but with with caution; make sure choice  
Both of your company, and discourse; beware,  
You never speak 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 'hem:  
You shall haue tricks, else, past vpon 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: Machiauell, and Monsieur Bodine, both,  
Were of this mind. Then, must you learn the use,  
And handling of your silver fork, at meales;  
The mettall 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 strait;  
he has: he strippes him. Ile acq●aint you, S●r,  
I now haue lived here( 'tis some fourteen monthes)  
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 red Contarene, took me a house,  
Dealt with my Iewes, 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 haue:  
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 read herrings, for three yeares,  
And at a certain rate, from Roterdam,  
Where I haue correspendence. There's a letter,  
Sent me from one o'th' States, and to that purpose;  
He cannot writ his name, but that's his mark.  PER. 
He is a chandler?  POL. 
No, a Cheesemonger.  
There are some other two, with whom I treat  
About the same negotiation;  
And— I will undertake it: For, tis thus,  
Ile do't with ease, I' haue cast it all. Your hoigh  
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 haue others?  POL. 
I should be loathe to draw the subtle air  
Of such a place, without my thousand aims.  
Ile not dissemble, Sir, where ere I come,  
I love to be consideratiue; and, 'tis true,  
I haue, at my free houres, thought vpon  
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. H'is  
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 haue my notes, to show you—  PER. 
Good, Sir.  POL. 
But, you shall swear unto me, on your gentry,  
Not to anticipate—  PER. 
I, Sir?  POL. 
Nor reveal  
A circumstance— My paper is not with me.  PER. 
O, but, you can remember, Sir.  POL. 
My first is  
Concerning Tinder-boxes. You must know,  
No family is, here, without it's box;  
Now Sir, it being so portable a thing,  
Put case, that you, or I were ill affencted  
unto the State: Sir, with it, in our pockets,  
Might not I go into the Arsenale?  
Or you? come out again? and none the wiser?  POL. 
Except yourself, Sir.  POL. 
Go too, then. I, therefore,  
advertise to the State, how fit it were,  
That none, but such as were known Patriots,  
Sound louers 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 Sorìa, or from  
Any suspected part of all the Leuant,  
Be guilty of the Plague: And, where they use  
To lye out forty, fifty dayes, sometimes,  
About the Lazaretto, for their trial;  
Ile save that charge, and loss unto the merchant,  
And, in an hour, clear the doubt.  PER. 
indeed, Sir?  POL. 
Or— I will loose my labour.  PBR. 
' My faith, that's much.  POL. 
Nay, Sir, conceive me. 'twill cost me, in onions,  
Some thirty Liu'res—  PER. 
Which is one pound sterling.  POL. 
Beside my water-workes: For this I do, Sir.  
First, I bring in your ship, 'twixt two brickwalles;  
( But those the State shall venture) on the one  
I strain me a fair tarre-paulin; 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 water-workes, in perpetual motion,  
( Which is the easi'st matter of a hundred.)  
Now, Sir, your onion, which doth naturally  
Attract th' infection, and your bellows, blowing  
The air vpon him, will show( instantly)  
By his changed colour, if there be contagion;  
Or else, remain as faire, as at the first:  
Now 'tis known, tis nothing.  PER. 
You are light, 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 haue 'hem not, about me.  PER. 
That I feared.  
They're 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 gnawne my spur-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 tooth-pickes, whereof one  
I burst, immediately, in a discourse  
With a dutch Merchant, about Ragion deal stato.  
From him, I went, and paid a moccinigo,  
For peecing my silk stockings; by the way,  
I cheapend sprats: and at St marks, I vrin'd.  
i'faith, these are politic notes!  POL. 
Sir, I do slip  
No action of my life, thus, but I quote it.  PER. 
Beleeue me, it is wise!  POL. 
Nay, Sir, red forth.   

ACT. 4. SCENE. 2.  LADY. NANO. WOMEN. POLITIQVE. PEREGRINE. 
WHere should this loose. Knight be, trow? sure h'is housed.  NAN. 
Why, then he's fast.  LA. 
I, he plays both, with me:  
I pray you, stay. This heat will do more harm  
To my complexion, then 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 mans apparel. pray you, Sir, iog my Knight:  
I will be tender to his reputation,  
How ever he demerit.  POL. 
My Lady!  PER. 
Where?  POL 
'tis shee 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 du●st compare—  PER. 
It seems, you are not jealous,  
That dare commend her.  POL. 
Nay, and for discourse—  PER. 
being your wife, shee cannot miss that.  POL. 
madam,  
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 to day?  POL. 
How's this?  LAD. 
Why in this habit, Sir, you apprehended me.  
Well Mr. Would-bee, this doth not become you;  
I had thought, the odour, ●ir, of your good name,  
Had been more precious to you; that you would not  
Haue 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, th●ir own Ladies.  POL. 
Now by my spurs( the symbol of my Knight-hood)  ( 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 loathe, to contest, publicly,  
With any Gentlewóman; or to seem  
Froward, or violent( as the Courtier says)  
It comes to near rusticity, in a Lady,  
Which I would shun, by all means: and, how-euer  
I may deserve from Mr Would-bee, yet,  
T'haue one fair Gentlewóman, thus, be made  
Th'unkind instrument, to wrong another,  
And one she knows not; I, and to persever:  
In my po●re i●dgement, is not warranted  
From being a scepticism in our sex,  
If not in manners.  PER. 
How is this!  POL. 
sweet madam,  
Come nearer to your aim.  LAD. 
Mary, and will, Sir.  
Since you provoke me, with your impudence,  
And laughter of your light land-Syren, here,  
Your Sporus, your Hermaphrodite—  PER. 
What's here?  
Poëtique fury, and historic storms?  POL. 
The Gentleman, beleeue it, is of worth,  
And of our Nation.  LAD. 
I, your white-Friars nation?  
Come, I blushy for you, Mr. Would-bee, I;  
And am ashamed, you should ha' no more forehead,  
Then, thus, to be the Patron, or Saint George  
To a lewd harlot, a base fricatrice,  
A female devill, in a male out-side.  POL. 
Nay,  
And you be such a one! I must bid, adieu  
To your delights. The case appears too liquid.  LAD. 
I, you may carry't clear, with your State-face;  
But, for your Carniuale Concupiscence,  
Who here is fled, for liberty of conscience,  
From furious persecution of the Marshall,  
Her will I disc'ple.  PER. 
This is fine, I' faith!  
And do you use this, often? is this part  
Of your wits exercise, 'gainst you haue occasion?  
Madam—  LAD. 
Go to, Sir.  PER. 
Do you hear me, Lady?  
Why, if your Knight haue set you to beg shirts,  
Or to invite me home, you might haue 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; onely, your nose inclines  
( That side, that's next the sun) to the Queene-apple:  LAD. 
This cannot be endured, by any patience.   

ACT. 4. SCENE. 3.  MOSCA. LADY. PEREGRINE. 
What's the matter, madam?  LAD. 
If the Senate  
Right not my quest, in this; I will protest 'hem,  
To all the world, no Aristocracye.  MOS. 
What is the injury, Lady?  LAD. 
Why, the caller,  
You  told me of, here I haue tâne 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. 
Ile bring you to her. This young Gentleman  
I saw him land, this morning, at the Port.  LAD. 
Is 't possible! how has my iudgement wandered?  
Sir, I must, blushing, say to you, I haue erred.  
And pled your pardon.  PER. 
What! more changes, yet?  LAD. 
I hope, you ha' not the malice to remember  
A Gentlewómans passion. If you stay,  
In Venice, here, please you to use me, Sir—  MOS. 
Will you go, Madam?  LAD. 
pray you, Sir, use me.  
In faith,  
The more you use me the more I shall conceive,  
You haue forgot our quarrel.  PER. 
This is rare!  
Sir politic Would-be●? No, Sir politic bawd.  
To bring me, thus, acquainted with his wife!  
Well, wise Sir Pol: since you haue practised, thus,  MOS. 
without a partner Sr. confirmde this morning;  
The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry  
Vpon 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 loathe to know it; well, we shall requited it.  MOS. 
He ever liked your course Sr. that first took him.  
I, oft, haue heard him say, how he admired  
Men of your large profession, that could speak  
To every cause, and things more contraries,  
Till they were hoarse again, yet all bee Law;  
That, with most quick agility, could turn,  
And return; make knots, and undo them;  
give forked council; 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 haue his heir of such a suffering spirit,  
So wise, so grave, of so perplexed a tongue,  
And loud withall, that would not wag, nor scarce  
lye still, without a fee; when every word  
Your worship but lets fall, is a Cecchine.  
Who's that? One knocks, I would not haue you seen sir.  
And yet— pretend you came, and went in hast;  
Ile 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 born 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 haue your inventory brought, sir  
Or see a copy of the Will? anon,  
Ile bring 'hem to you Sir. Away, be gon,  
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 Rauen's come.    

ACT. 1.  

SCENE. 4.  
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,  
Then this can fain to bee; 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: 
Vpon his couch Sir, newly fallen a sleep.  CORB. 
does he sleep well?  MOS. 
No wink, Sir, all this night,  
Nor yesterday, but slumbers.  CORB. 
Good. He should take  
Some counsel of Physitians: I haue 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. 
I, 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 haue  
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 conceive you.  MOS. 
And then, they do it by experiment;  
For which the Law not onely doth absolve 'hem,  
But gives them great reward: And, he is loathe  
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. 
I, or me:  
Or any man. How does his Apoplexe?  
Is that strong on him, still?  MOS. 
Most violent.  
His speech is broken, and his eyes are set,  
His face drawn longer, then t'was wont—  CORB. 
How? how?  
Stronger, then he was wont?  CORB. 
No, Sir: his face  
drawn longer, then t'was wont.  CORB. 
O, good.  MOS. 
His mouth  
Is ever gaping, and his eye-lids hang.  CORB. 
Good.  MOS. 
A freezing numbness stiffens all his joints,  
And makes the colour of his flesh like led.  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 could 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 breaths.  CORB. 
Excellent, excellent, sure I shall out last him:  
This makes me young again, a score of yeares.  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.  
But what 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 haue brought a bag of bright Cecchines,  
Will quiter weigh down his plate.  MOS. 
Yea mary, 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 boule?  CORB. 
I, 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; Ile take my venture:  
give me't again.  MOS. 
At no hand, pardon me;  
You shall not do yourself that wrong sir. I  
Will so aduise you, you shall haue it all.  CORB. 
How?  MOS. 
All Sr. 'tis your right, your own; no man.  
Can claim a part: 'tis yours, without a rival,  
Decre'd by destiny.  CORB. 
How? how, good Mosca?  MOS. 
Ile 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 council 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 sand it unto me.  
Now, when I come to enforce( as I will do)  
Your cares, your watchings, and your many prayers,  
Your more then many gifts, your this dayes present,  
And, last, produce your Will; where( without thought,  
Or least regard, unto your proper issue,  
A son so brave, and highly meriting)  
The stream of your diverted love hath thrown you  
Vpon my master, and made him your heir:  
He cannot be so stupid, or ston dead,  
But, out of conscience, and more gratitude—  CORB. 
He must pronounce me, his?  MOS. 
'tis true.  CORB. 
This plot  
Did I think on before.  MOS. 
I do beleeue it.  CORB. 
Do you not beleeue 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 haue not onely done yourself a good,  CORB. 
But multiplied it on my son?  MOS. 
'tis right, Sir.  CORB. 
Still, my invention.  MOS. 
'Lasse Sir, heaven knows,  
It hath been all my study, all my care,  
( I 'eene grow grey withall) how to work things—  CORB. 
I do conceive, sweet Mosca.  MOS. 
You are he,  
For whom I labour, here.  CORB. 
I, do, do, do:  
Ile strait about it.  MOS. 
rook go with you, raven.  CORB. 
I know thee honest.  MOS. 
You do lye, Sir.  CORB. 
And—  MOS. 
Your knowledge is no better then your ears, Sir.  CORB. 
I do not doubt, to be a father to thee.  MOS. 
Nor I, to guile 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 hast, 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 rascall, 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 'hem words;  
power oil into their ears: and sand them hence.  VOLP. 
'tis true, 'tis true. What a rare punishment  
Is avarice, to itself?  MOS. 
I, 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 'hem, 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 yeares, flatters his age,  
With confident belying it, hopes he may  
With charms, like Aeson, haue his youth restored,  
And with these thoughts so battens, as if Fate  
Would be as easily cheated on, as he,  
And all turns air! 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. 1. SCENE. 5.  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 haue 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. H'is here, Sir,  
And he has brought you a rich pearl.  CORV. 
How do you Sir?  
Tell him, it doubles the twelve Caract.  MOS. 
Sir,  
He cannot understand, his hearing's gone;  
And yet it comforts him, to see you—  CORV. 
Say,  
I haue a diamond for him, too.  MOS. 
Best show't Sir,  
Put it into his hand; 'tis onely there  
He apprehends: He has his feeling, yet.  
See, how he graspes it!  CORV. 
'Lasse, 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 'hem, 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 haue his heir? corvino: Who  
Should be executor, corvino: And,  
To any question, he was silent too,  
I still interpnted the noddes, he made,  
( Through weakness) for consent: and sent home th'others,  
Nothing bequeathed them, but to cry, and curse.  CORV. 
O, my dear Mosca. does he not perceive us?  MOS, 
No more then a blind harper. He knows no man,  
No face of friend, nor name of any seruant,  
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 Iewes, and Black-moores, when he was drunk.  
Knew you not that Sir? 'tis the common fable.  
The dwarf, the fool, the Eunuch are all his;  
H' is the true father of his family,  
In all, save me: but he has given 'hem 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 flow with slime,  
Like two frog-pits; and those same hanging cheeks,  
covered with hid, in steede of skin:( nay help, Sir)  
That look like frozen dish-clouts, 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 Culuering,  
Discharged in his ear, would hardly bore it.  CORV. 
His nose is like a common sewre, 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 Ile 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 ●ir, be gone.  CORV. 
I will not trouble him now, to take my pearl?  MOS. 
Puh, nor your diamond. What a needless care  
Is this afflicts you? Is not all, here yours?  
Am not I here? whom you haue 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. 
Whats 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 to day out-gone thyself. 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 diamond? Plate? Cecchines? good mornings purchase;  
Why this is better then rob Churches, yet:  
Or fat, by eating( once a mon'th) a man.  
Who is' t?  MOS. 
The beauteous Lady Would-bee, Sir.  
Wife, to the English Knight, Sir politic Would-bee,  
( This is the style, Sir, is directed me)  
Hath sent to know, how you haue slept to night,  
And if you would be visited.  VOLP. 
Not, now.  
Some three houres, hence—  MOS. 
I  told the Squire, so much.  VOLP. 
When I am high with mirth, and wine; then, then.  
before heaven, I wonder at the desperate valour  
Of the bold English, that they dare let loose  
Their wives, to all encounters!  MOS. 
Sir, this Knight  
Had not his name for nothing, he is politic,  
And knows, how ere his wife affect strange airs,  
She hath not yet the face, to be dishonest.  
But had she signor Coruino'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 then 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;  
Shee'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, vpon her;  
All his whole household: each of which is set  
Vpon his fellow, and haue 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 e'll think.    

ACT. 2.  

SCENE. 1.  POLITIQVE WOVLD-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 dis-affection to the State  
Where I was bread,( and, unto which I owe  
My dearest plots) hath brought me out; much less,  
That idle, antic, stale, grey-headed project  
Of knowing mens mindes, 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 travell, Sir, with licence?  PER. 
Yes▪  POL. 
I dare the safelier converse— How long, Sir,  
Since you left England?  PER. 
seven weekes.  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. 
mary, Sir, of a raven, that should build  
In a ship royal of the Kings.  PER. 
This fellow  
does he guile me, trow? or is gulled? your name Sir?  POL. 
My name is politic 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-be?  POL. 
Yes; Sir; the spider, and the bee, oft times,  
Suck from one flower.  PER. 
Good Sir politic!  
I cry you mercy; I haue 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 Berwike!  
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 Porcpisces seen, above the Bridge,  
As they give out?  PER. 
six, and a Sturgeon, Sir.  POL. 
I am astonished.  PER. 
Nay Sir, be not so;  
Ile tell you a greater prodigy, then 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 Woollwich, that had waited there  
( Few know how many moneths) for the subversion  
Of the Stode-Fleete.  POL. 
Is't possible? Beleeue it,  
'twas either sent from spain, or the Arch-duke,  
Spinola's Whale, vpon my life, my credit;  
Will they not leave these projects? Worthy Sir,  
Some other news.  PER. 
Faith, ston, the fool, is dead;  
And they do lack a tauerne-Foole, extremely.  POL. 
Is Mass' ston dead?  PER. 
H' is dead Sir; why? I hope  
You thought him not immortal? O this Knight  
( Were he well known) would be a precious thing  
To fit our English Stage: He that should writ  
But such a fellow, should be thought to fain  
Extremely, if not maliciously.  POL. 
ston dead?  PER. 
Dead. Lord! how deeply Sir you apprehended it?  
He was no kinsman to you?  POL. 
That I know of.  
Well! that same fellow was an unknown fool.  PER. 
And yet you know 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,  
Vpon my knowledge, out of the Low Countries,  
( For all parts of the world) in cabbages;  
And those dispensed, again, to Ambassadors,  
In oranges, musk-melons, apricots,  
lemons, pome-citrons, and such like: sometimes,  
In Colchester-oysters, and your Selsey-cockles.  PER. 
You make me wonder!  POL. 
Sir, vpon my knowledge.  
Nay, I, haue observed him, at your public Ordinary,  
Take his advertisement, from a traveler  
( A concealed States-man) in a trencher of meate;  
And, instantly, before the meal was done,  
convey an answer in a tooth-pick.  PER. 
Strange!  
How could this be, Sir?  POL. 
Why, the meate was cut  
So like his character, and so laid, as he  
Must easily red the cipher.  PER. 
I haue heard,  
He could not red, Sir.  POL. 
So, 'twas given out,  
( In pollitie,) by those, that did employ him:  
But he could red, and had your languages,  
And to't, as sound a noddle-  PER. 
I haue heard, Sir,  
That your Babi●uns were spies; and that they were  
A kind of subtle Nation, near to China:  POL. 
I, I, 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 return'd,  
Made their relations( as the fashion is)  
And now stand faire, for f●esh employment.  PER. 
' Hart!  
This Sir Poll: will be ignorant of nothing.  
It seems Sir, you know all?  POL. 
Not all Sir. But,  
I haue 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. 
Beleeue it, Sir, I hold  
myself, in no small tie, unto my fortunes,  
For casting me thus luckily, vpon 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,  
Fellowes of out-side, and more bark. You seem  
To be a gentleman, of ingenuous race—  
I not profess it, but my fate hath been  
To be, where I haue been consulted with,  
In this high kind, touching some great mens sons,  
Persons of blood, and honor—  PER. 
Who be these, Sir?   

ACT. 2. SCENE. 2.  MOSCA. POLITIQVE. PEREGRINE. VOLPONE, NANO. GREGE. 
under that window, there't must be The same:  POL. 
Fellowes, to mount a bank! Did your instructor  
In the dear Tongues, never discourse to you  
Of the Italian Monteb●●kes?  PER. 
Yes, Sir.  POL. 
Why,  
Here shall you see one.  PER. 
They are Quack-saluers,  
Fellowes, 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 onely-knowing men of Europe,  
Great, general Schollers, excellent Phisitians,  
Most admired States-men, professed favourites,  
And cabinet-Councellors, to the greatest Princes:  
The onely Languag'd-men, of all the world.  PER. 
And, I haue heard, they are most lewd impostors;  
Made all of terms, and shreds; no less beliers  
Of great-mens favours, then their own vile medicines;  
Which they will utter vpon monstrous oaths:  
Selling that drug, for two pence, ere they part,  
Which they haue valew'd at twelve Crownes, before.  POL. 
Sir, calumnies are answered best with silence;  
yourself shall judge. Who is it mounts, my friends?  MOS. 
Scoto of Ma●tua, Sir.  POL 
Is 't he? nay, then  
Ile proudly promise, Sir, you shall behold  
Another man, then has been phant'sied, 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 writ 10000. Crownes, 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 Mautuano, 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 tel you: I am not( as your Lombard proverb saith) could on my feet, or content to part with my commodities at a cheaper rate, then I accustomend; look not for it. Nor, that the calumnious reports of that impudent detractor, and shane to our profession, ( Alessandro Buttone, I mean) who gave out, in public, I was condemned a' Sforzato to the Galleys, for poisoning the cardinal Bemboos— 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 moldy tales out of Boccacio, like stale Tabarine, the Fabulist: some of them discoursing their travels, and of their tedious captivity in the Turkes galleys, when indeed( were the truth known) they were the Christians galleys, where very temperately, they eat bread,& drunk water, as a wholesome pennance( enioyn'd them by their Confessors) for base pilferies.  POL. 
Note but his bearing, and contempt of these.  VOLP. 
These turdy-facy-nasty-patie-lousie-farticall rogues, with one poor groats-worth of vnprepar'd antimony, finely wrapped up in several' Scartoccios, are able, very well, to kill their twenty a week, and play; yet these meager steru'd spirits, who haue half stopped the organs of their mindes with earthy oppilations, want not their favourers among your shriuel'd, sallad-●ating artisans: who are ouerioy'd, that they may haue their halfeperth of physic, though it purge 'hem into another world, makes no matter.  POL. 
Excellent! ha you heard better Language, Sir?  VOLP. 
Well, let 'hem go. And Gentlemen, honourable Gentlemen, know, that for this time, our Banque, being thus removed from the clamours of the Canaglia, shall be the Scene of pleasure, and delight; For I haue 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 seruants, 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 Tèrra-ferma; worshipful Merchants; I, and Senators too: who, ever since my arrival, haue detained me to their uses, by their splendidous liberalities. And worthily. For what avails your rich man to haue his magazines stuffed with Moscadelli, or the purest grape, when his Physitians prescribe him( on pain of death) to drink nothing but water, cocted with Anise-seeds? O health! health! the blessing of the rich, the riches of the poor! who can buy thee at to 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. 
I, is't not good?  VOLP. 
For, when a humide flux, or Catarrhe, by the mutability of air, falls from your head, into an arm or shoulder, or any other part; take you a Duckat, or your Cecchine of gold, and apply to the place affencted: see, what good effect it can work. No, no, 'tis this blessed Vnguento, this rare Extraction, that hath onely power to disperse all malignant humors, that proceed, either of hot, could, 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, I, were it of one, that( through extreme weakness) vomited blood, applying onely 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 Mall-caduco, cramps, Convulsions, Paralysies, Epilepsies, Tremor-cordia, retired-Nerues, ill Vapours of the spleen, Stoppings of the liver, the ston, 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, this is the physician, this the medicine; this councells, 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 Crownes. 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 Broughtons 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 bee guilty ever)  
been murderers of so much paper,  
Or wasted many a hurtlesse taper:  
No Indian drug had ere been famed,  
tobacco, Sassafras not name;  
Ne yet, of Guacum one small stick, Sir,  
Nor Raymund Lullies great Elixir.  
Ne, had been known the danish Gonswart.  
Or Paracelsus, with his long-sword.   PER. 
All this, yet, will not do, eight Crownes is high.  VOLP. 
No more; Gentlemen, if I had but time to discourse to you the miraculous effects of this my oil, surnamed oglio deal Scoto, with the count-lesse Catalogue of those I haue cured of th'aforesayd, 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 Signiry of the Sanitâ, and most learned college of Physitians; where I was authorised, vpon notice taken of the admirable virtues of my medicaments, and mine own excellency, in matter of rare, and unknown secrets, not onely to disperse them publicly in this famous city, but in all the Territories, that happily ioy under the government of the most pious and magnificent States of Italy. But may some other gallant fellow say, O, there be diuers, that make profession to haue as good, and as experimented receipts, as yours: Indeed, very many haue assayed, like Apes, in imitation of that, which is really, and essentially in me, to make of this oil; bestowed great cost in furnaces, stilles, alembekes, continual fires, and preparation of the ingredients, as indeed there goes to it six hundred several Simples, beside, some quantity of human fat, for the conglutination, which we buy of the Anatomistes; But, when these Practitioners come to the last decoction, blow, blow, puff, puff, and all flies in fumo: ha, ha, ha. poor wretches! I rather pitty their folly, and indiscretion, then their loss of time, and money; for those may be recovered by industry: but to be a fool born is a disease incurable. For myself, I always from my youth haue indeauor'd 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 haue been at the balloo, I haue 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 withall, Sir. Poll.  VOLP. 
You all know( honourable Gentlemen) I never valew'd this ampulla, or viol, at less then eight Crownes, but for this time, I am content, to be deprived of it for six; six Crownes 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 Crownes, so the cardinals Montalto, Fernese, the great Duke of Tuscany, my Gossip, with diuers other Princes haue given me; but I despise money: only to show my affection to you, honourable Gentlemen, and your illustrious State here, I haue neglected the messages of these Princes, mine own offices, framed my journey hither, onely 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 three-pence, i'th whole, for that 'twill come too.  

SONG.  
YOu that would last long, list to my song,  
Make no more coil, but buy of this oil.  
Would you be ever faire? 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 nones.   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 Gods sake. Wherefore, now mark; I asked you six Crownes, and six Crownes, at other times, you haue paid me; you shall not give me six Crownes, nor five, nor four, nor three, nor two, nor one; nor half a Duckat; 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 bait a bagatine, that I will haue, onely, a pledge of your loues, to carry something from amongst you, to show, I am not contemned by you. Therefore, now, toss your handkerchiefes, cheerfully, cheerfully; and bee advertised, that the first heroic spirit, that deignes to grace me, with a handkerchief, I will give it a little remembrance of something, beside, shall please it better, then if I had presented it with a double Pistolet.  PER. 
Will you be that heroic spark, Sir Pol?  
O see! the window has prevented you.  VOLP. 
Lady, I kiss your bounty; and, for this timely grace, you haue 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, onely, tell you; it is the powder, that made Venus a Goddesse( given her by Apollo) that kept her perpetually young, cleared her wrinkles, firm'd her gums, filled her skin, coloured her hair; From her, derived to heal, 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) remaines with me; extracted, to a Quintessence: so that, where ever 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. 2. SCENE. 3.  CORVINO. POLITIQVE. PEREGRINE. 
blood of the devill, and my shane! 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 windores on the whole Piazza, here,  
To make your properties, but mine? but mine?  
Hart! ere to morrow, I shall be new christened,  
And called the Pantalone di Besogniosi,  
About the town.  PER. 
What should this mean, Sir Poll?  POL. 
Some trick of State, beleeue it. I will home.  PER. 
It may be some design on you:  POL. 
I know not.  
Ile stand vpon my gard.  PER. 
'tis your best, Sir.  POL. 
This three weekes, all my advises, all my letters  
They haue been intercepted.  PER. 
Indeed, Sir?  
Best haue a care.  POL. 
Nay so I will.  PER. 
This Knight,  
I may not loose him, for my mirth, till night.   

ACT. 2. SCENE. 4.  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 flamme;  
Where, now, he flings about his burning heat,  
As in a furnace, some 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. 
'Lasse, 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' am bound in conscience.  
No less then duty, to effect my best  
To your release of torment, and I will, Sir.  VOLP. 
dear Mosca, shall I hope?  MOS. 
Sir, more then dear,  
I will not bid you to despair of ought,  
Within a human compass.  VOLP. 
O, there spoken  
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 haue.  MOS. 
I doubt not  
But 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 of 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 haue distinguished;  
I haue not time to flatter you, wee'll part:  
And, as I prosper, so applaud my art.   

ACT. 2. SCENE. 5.  CORVINO. CELIA. SERVITORE. 
DEath of mine honour, with the cities fool?  
A juggling, tooth-drawing, prating Montebanke?  
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, vn-mari'd, noted lechers,  
Stood leering up, like satires; and you smile,  
Most graciously? and fan your favours forth,  
To give your hote Spectators satisfaction?  
What; was your Montebanke their call? their whistle?  
Or were you' enamoured on his copper rings?  
His saffron jewel, with the toade-stone in't?  
Or his imbroydred suit, with the cope-stitch,  
Made of a herse-cloath? or his old tilt-feather?  
Or his starched beard? well; you shall haue 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 citterne, Lady Vanity,  
And be a Dealer, with the virtuous Man;  
Make one: Ile but protest myself a cuckolded,  
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'ldst tremble, to imagine, that the murder  
Of father, mother, brother, all thy race,  
Should follow, as the subject of my iustice.  CEL. 
Good Sir, haue 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 vpon 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 handkercheife;  
Which he, most sweetly, kist 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 aunts 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 haue this bawdy light damned up;  
And, till't be done, some two, or three yards of,  
Ile chalk a line: ore which, if thou but( chance  
To) set thy desp'rate foot; more hell, more horror,  
More wild, remorcelesse rage shall seize on thee,  
Then on a conjuror, that had heed-lesse left,  
His Circles safety, ere his devill was laid.  
Then, here's a lock, which I will hang vpon thee;  
And, now I think on't, I will keep thee back-wards;  
Thy lodging shall bee back-wards; thy walks back-wards;  
Thy prospect-all be back-wards; and no pleasure,  
That thou shalt know, but back-wards: Nay, since you force  
My honest nature, know, it is your own  
Being to 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, 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 red a lecture  
Vpon thee, to the city, and in public.  
Away. Who's there?  SER. 
'tis signor Mosca, Sir.   

ACT. 2. SCENE. 6.  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 cur●t,  
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—  COR. 
Death! that damned mountebank; but, for the Law,  
Now, I could kill the rascal: 't cannot bee,  
His oil should haue 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 al his forced tricks, been glad  
Of a poor spoonefull of dead wine, with flies in ●t?  
It cannot bee. All his ingredients  
Are a sheeps gull, a roasted bitches marrow,  
Some few sod earewigs pounded caterpillars,  
A little capons grease, and fasting spittle:  
I know hem, to a dram.  MOS. 
I know not, Sir,  
But some on't, there they poured into his cares,  
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 haue had  
( At extreme fees) the college of Physitians  
Consulting on him how they might restore him;  
Where, one would haue a catapl●●me of spices,  
Another a flayed Ape clapped to his breast,  
A third would ha'it a Dog, a fourth an oil  
With wild Cat●s skins: At l●st, they all resolved  
That, to preserve him, was no other means,  
But some young woman must be streight 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 aduise, since it concerns you most,  
Because, I would not do that thing might cross  
Your ends, on whom I haue 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 some-what:  
prevent 'hem if you can.  CORV. 
Death to my hopes!  
This is my villainous fortune! best to hire  
Some common Cu●tezan?  MOS. 
I, 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 simplo thing, a creature, made unto it;  
Some wench you may command. Ha' you no kinswoman?  
Gods so-Thinke, 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 honor,  
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 that is not engaged,  
Vnlesse't bee for his council( which is nothing)  
Offer his daughter, what should I, that am  
So deeply in? I will prevent him, wretch!  
covetous wretch! Mosca, I haue determined.  MOS. 
How Sir?  CORV. 
Weell 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 council you)  
I should haue motion'd to you at the first:  
And, make your count, you haue 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 thratled: 't had been done, before,  
But for your scrupulous doubts.  CORV. 
I, a plague on't,  
My conscience fools my wit. Well, Ile be brief,  
And so be thou, least 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,  
Ile so possess him with it, that the rest  
Of his steru'd clients shall be banished, all;  
And onely you received. But come not, Sir,  
until I sand, for I haue something, else  
To ripen, for your good( you must not know't)  CORV. 
But do not you forget to sand, now.  MOS. 
fear not.   

ACT. 2. SCENE. 7.  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.  
Me thinks, the lightness of the occasion  
Should ha' confirmed thee. Come, I am not jealous:  CEL. 
No?  COR. 
Faith, I am not I, nor never was:  
It is a poor, unprofitable humour.  
Do not I know, if women haue a will,  
They'll do 'gainst all the watches, o' the world?  
And that the feircest spies, are tamed with gold?  
Tut, I am confident in thee thou shalt see't:  
And see, Ile give thee cause too, to beleeue it.  
Come, kiss me. Go, and make thee ready strait,  
In all thy best attire, thy choicest jewels,  
Put 'hem all on, and, with 'hem, thy best looks:  
We are invited to a solemn feast,  
At old Volpone's, where it shall appear  
How far I am free, from iealousy, or fear.    

ACT. 3.  

SCENE. 1.  MOSCA. 
I fear, I shall begin to grow in love  
With my dear self, and my most prosperous parts,  
They do so spring, and burgeon; I can feel  
A whimsy 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 bread' mong'st clods, and clot-poules, 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 haue your bare Towne-art,  
To know, who's fit to feed 'hem; haue no house,  
No family, no care, and therefore mould  
Tales for mens ears, to bait that sense; or get  
Kitchin-inuention, and some stale receipts  
To please the belly, and the groin; nor those,  
With their Court-dog-trickes, that can fawn, and fleer,  
Make their revenue out of legs, and faces,  
echo my-Lord, and lick away a moth:  
But your fine, elegant rascall, 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, then a thought.  
This is the creature, had the art born 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 Zani's.   

ACT. 3. SCENE. 2.  MOSCA. BONARIO. 
Who's this? Bonario? old Corbaccio's son?  
The person I was bound to seek. fair Sir,  
You are happ'ly met.  BON. 
That cannot be, by thee.  MOS. 
Why Sir?  BON. 
Nay pray thee know thy way, and leave me;  
I would be loathe to inter-change 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. 
I 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, ●ir,  
And eas●ly stuck on virtue, when shee's poor;  
You are unequal to me, and how ere  
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 to much obsequy; 'tis true, beside,  
That I am fain to spin mine own poor raiment,  
Out of my more observance, being not born,  
To a free fortune: but that I haue done  
Base offices, in rending friends asunder,  
dividing families, betraying councells,  
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 too blame, so to mistake thy nature;  
pray thee forgive me: and speak out thy bus'nesse.  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 more 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 more respect,  
Without a second aim, Sir, I haue 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 simplo innocence: which makes  
Your wrong more monstrous, and abhorred. But, Sir,  
I now, will tell you more. This very minute,  
Is is, or will be doing: And, if you  
Shall be but pleased to go with me, Ile bring you,  
( I dare not say where you shall see, but) where  
Your ear shall be a witness of the dead;  
hear yourself written Bastard; and professed  
The common issue of the earth.  BON. 
I 'm maz'd.  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 haue too much wrong,  
And I do suffer for you, Sir. My heart  
weeps blood, in anguish—  BON. 
led. I follow thee.   

ACT. 3. SCENE. 3.  VOLPONE. NANO. ANDROGYNO. CASTRONE. 
MOsca stays long, me thinks. Bring forth your sports  
And help, to make the wretched time more sweet.  NAN. 
dwarf, fool, and Eunuch, well met here wee 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?  case. 
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 mens 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 haue.  
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,  
Vpon my freshman-ship, Ile try your salt-head,  
What proof it is against a counter-plot.    

ACT. 4.  

SCENE. 4.  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 lye  
Safely conuai'd amongst us? Is that sure?  
knows every man his burden?  CORV. 
Yes.  MOS. 
Then, shrink not.  CORV. 
But, knows the advocate the truth?  MOS. 
O, Sir,  
By no means. I devised a formal tale,  
That salu'd your reputation. But, be valiant, Sir.  CORV. 
I fear no one, but him; that, this his pleading  
Should make him stand for a co-hei●e—  MOS. 
Co-halter,  
Hang him: wee will but use his tongue, his noise,  
As we do Croakers, here.  CORV. 
I, what shall he do?  MOS. 
When we ha'done, you mean?  CORV. 
Yes.  MOS. 
Why, wee'll think,  
Sell him for Mummia, he's half dust already.  
Do not you smile, to see this Buffalo,  
How he does sport it with his head?— I' should  
If all were well, and past. Sir, onely you  
Are he, that shall enjoy the crop of all,  
And these not know for whom they toil.  CORB. 
I, peace.  MOS. 
But you shall eat it. Much. worshipful Sir,  
Mercury sit vpon your thundering tongue,  
Or the French Hercules, and make your language  
As conquering as his club, to beate along,  
( As with a tempest) flat, our aduersaries;  
But, much more, yours, Sir.  VOLT. 
Here they come, ha' done.  MOS. 
I haue another witness, if you need, Sir,  
I can produce.  VOLT. 
Who is it?  MOS. 
Sir, I haue her.   

ACT. 4. SCENE. 5.  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 vn-reproued name.  AVOC. 3. 
So has the youth.  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  
Discrib'd, 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. Himselfe'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. 
Vpon my faith, and credit, with your virtues,  
he is not able to endure the air.  AVOC. 2. 
Bring him, howe ever.  AVOC. 3. 
We will see him.  AVOC. 4. 
Fetch him.  VOLT. 
Your Father-hoodes fit pleasures be obeyed,  
But sure, the sight will rather move your pittyes,  
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 haue 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 frontlesse piece  
Of solid impudence, and treachery,  
That ever vicious Nature yet brought forth  
To shane 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 mans own virtue made accused.  
For these, not knowing how to owe a gift  
Of that dear grace, but with their shane; being placed  
So' above all powers of their gratitude,  
Began to hate the benefit; and, in place  
Of thankes, devise t' extirp the memory  
Of such an act: wherein, I pray your Father-hoods,  
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,  
That daily strooke at his too-tender ears,  
And, grieved in nothing more, then that he could not  
preserve himself a parent( his sons ills  
Growing to that strange flood) at last decreed  
To dis-inherit him.  AVOC. 1. 
These be strange turns!  AVOC. 2. 
The young mans famed was ever faire, 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 dead, that Parricide,  
( I cannot style him better) by confederacy  
Preparing this his Paramour, to bee there,  
Entred Volpone's house( who was the man  
Your Father-hoods must understand, designed  
For the inheritance) there, sought his father;  
But, with what purpose sought he him, my Sires?  
( I tremble to pronounce it, that a son  
unto a father, and to such a father  
Should haue 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, bed-rid,  
Three yeares, and more, out off his innocent couch,  
Naked▪ vpon the floor, there left him; wounded  
His seruant in the face; and, with this strumpet  
The stale to his for'gd practise, who was glad  
To be so active,( I shall here desire  
Your Father-hoods to note but my collections,  
As most remarkable) thought, at once, to stop  
His fathers ends; discredit his free choice,  
In the old Gentleman; redeem themselves,  
By laying infamy, vpon this man  
To whom, with blushing, they should owe their lives.  AVOC. 1. 
What proofs haue you of this?  BON. 
Most honoured Fathers,  
I humbly crave, there be no credite given  
To this mans 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 haue scope; can any man imagine  
That he will spare' his accuser, that would not  
Haue spared his parent?  AVOC. 1. 
Well, produce your proofs.  CEL. 
I would, I could forget, I were a creature.  VOLT. 
signor Corbaccio.  AVOC. 4. 
What is he?  VOLT. 
The father.  AVOC. 2. 
Has he had an oath?  NOT. 
Yes.  CORB. 
What must I do now?  NOT. 
Your testimony's craved.  CORB. 
speak to the knave?  
Ile ha' my mouth, first, stopped with earth; my heart  
Abhors his knowledge: I disclaim in him.  AVOC. 1. 
But, for what cause?  CORB. 
The more portent of nature.  
he is an utter stranger, to my loins.  BON. 
Haue they made you to this?  CORB. 
I will not hear thee,  
Monster of men, swine, goat, wolf, Parricide,  
speak not, thou viper.  BON. 
Sir, I will sit down,  
And rather wish my innocence should suffer,  
Then I resist the authority of a father.  VOLT. 
signor corvino.  AVOC. 2. 
This is strange!  AVOC. 1. 
Who's this?  NOT. 
The husband.  AVOC. 4. 
Is he sworn?  NOT. 
he is.  AVOC. 3. 
speak then.  CORV. 
This woman( please your Father-hoods) is a whore,  
Of most hot exercise, more then a partridge,  
Vpon record—  AVOC. 1. 
No more.  CORV. 
Neighes, 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  
Haue seen her glued unto that piece of Cedar;  
That fine well-timber'd gallant: and that, here,  
The letters may be red, through the horn,  
That make the story perfect.  MOS. 
Excellent, Sir.  CORV. 
There is no harm 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 then whore, and woman; a good Christian  
May make the doubt.  AVOC. 3. 
His grief hath made him frantic.  AVOC. 1. 
remove him, hence.  AVOC. 2. 
look to the woman.  CORV. 
Rare!  
Prettily feigned! again!  AVOC. 4. 
Stand from about her.  AVOC. 1. 
give her the air.  AVOC. 3. 
What can you say?  MOS. 
My wound  
( May't please your wisdoms) speaks for me, received  
In aid of my good Patron, when he mist  
His sought for father, when that well-taught dame  
Had her Qu: given her, to cry out a rape.  BON. 
O, Most laid impudence! Fathers.  AVOC. 3. 
Sir, be silent,  
You had your hearing free, so must they theirs.  AVOC. 2. 
I do begin to doubt th' imposture, here.  AVOC. 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 faynings  
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 'hem  
Together, on the water, in a Gondola.  MOS. 
Here is the Lady herself, that saw 'hem too,  
Without; who, then, had in the open streets  
Pursew'd them, but for saving her Knights honour.  AVOC. 1. 
Produce that Lady.  AVOC. 2. 
Let her come.  AVOC. 4. 
These things  
They strike, with wonder!  AVOC. 3. 
I am turned a ston!   

ACT. 4. SCENE. 6.  MOSCA. LADY. AVOCATORI. &c. 
BEe resolute, Madam.  LAD. 
I, this same is shee.  
Out, thou Chameleon harlot; now, thine eyes  
Vie tears with the hyena: worst thou look  
Vpon my wronged face? I cry your pardons.  
I fear, I haue( forgettingly) transgressed  
Against the dignity of the Court—  AVOC. 2. 
No, madam.  LAD. 
And been exorbitant—  AVOC. 4. 
You haue not, Lady.  AVOC. 4. 
These proofs are strong.  LAD. 
Surely, I had no purpose,  
To scandalise your Honors, or my sexes.  AVOC. 3. 
We do beleeue it.  LAD. 
Surely, you may beleeue it.  AVOC. 2. 
madam, wee do.  LAD. 
indeed, you may; my breeding  
Is not so course—  AVOC. 4. 
Wee know it.  LAD. 
To offend With pertinacy—  AVOC. 3. 
Lady.  LAD. 
Such a presence;  
No, surely.  AVOC. 1. 
Wee well think it.  LAD. 
You may think it.  AVOC. 1. 
Let her o'ercome. What witnesses haue you,  
To make good your report?  BON. 
Our consciences:  CEL. 
And heaven, that never fails the innocent.  AVOC. 4. 
These are no testimonies.  BON. 
Not, in your Courts,  
Where multitude, and clamour, overcomes.  AVOC. 1. 
Nay, then you do wax insolent.  VOLT. 
Here, here,  
The testimony comes, that will convince,  
And put to utter dumbness, their bold tongues.  
See here, grave Fathers, here's the Rauisher,  
The Rider on mens wives, the great Impostor,  
The grand Voluptuary: Do you not think,  
These limbs should affect V●nery? or these eyes  
covet a concubine? pray you, mark these hands,  
Are they not fit to stroke a Ladies breasts?  
Perhaps, he doth dissemble.  BON. 
So he does.  VOLT. 
Would you ha' him tortured?  BON. 
I would haue him proved.  VOLT. 
Best try him, then, with goads, or burning Irons;  
Put him to the strappado; I haue heard,  
The Rack hath cured the gout; faith, give it him,  
And help him of a malady, bee courteous:  
Ile undertake, before these honoured Fathers,  
He shall haue, 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 famed,  
To him that dares traduce him? Which of you  
Are safe, my honoured Fathers? I would ask  
( With leave of your grave Father-hoods) if their plot  
Haue 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 'hem to custody, and sever them.  AVOC. 2. 
Tis pitty, two such prodigies should live.  AVOC. 1. 
Let the old Gentleman be return'd, with care;  
I'am sorry, our credulity wronged him.  AVOC. 4. 
These are two creatures!  AVOC. 3. 
I haue an earthquake in me!  AVOC. 2. 
Their shane( even in their cradles) fled their faces.  AVOC. 4. 
You' haue done a worthy service to the State, Sir,  
In their discovery.  AVOC. 1. 
You shall hear, ere night,  
What punishment the Court decrees vpon' hem.  VOLT. 
Wee thank your Father-hoods. 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 haue want men, ere you want l●uing:  
They' are bound t' erect your Statue, in St marks.  
signor corvino, I would haue you go,  
And show yourself, that you haue conquered.  CORV. 
Yes.  MOS. 
It was much better, that you should profess  
yourself a cuckolded, thus; then that the other  
Should haue 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, bee put in, jewels, plate, moneys,  
House-holdstuffe, bedding, curtines.  MOS. 
Curtine-rings, Sir.  
Onely, the advocates fee must be deducted.  CORB. 
Ile 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. 
Ile 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,  
Ile leave you.  MOS. 
All, is yours; the devill, and all,  
Good advocate. madam, I'll bring you home.  LAD. 
No, Ile go see your Patron.  MOS. 
That you shall not:  
Ile tell you, why. My purpose is, to urge  
My Patron to reform his Will; and, for  
The zeal, you' haue shown to day, whereas before  
You were but third, or fourth, you shall be now  
Put in the first; which would appear as begged,  
If you be present. Therefore—  LAD. 
You shall sway me.    

ACT. 5.  

SCENE. 1.  VOLPONE. 
WEll, I am here; and all this brunt is past:  
I nêre was in dislike with my disguise,  
Till this fled moment; here, 'twas good, in private,  
But, in your public, cave, whilst I breath.  
before God, my left leg 'gan to haue the cramp;  
And I apprênded, strait, some power had strooke 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 vpon me: Ile prevent' hem.  
give me a boule of lusty wine, to fright  
This humour from my heart;( Hum, hum, hum)  
'tis almost gone, already: I shall conquer.  
Any devise, now, of rare, ingenious knavery,  
That would possess me with a violent laughter,  
Would make me up, again: So, so, so, so.  
This heat is life; 'tis blood, by this time: Mosca!   

ACT. 5. SCENE. 2.  MOSCA. VOLPONE. NANO. CASTRONE. 
HOw now, Sir? does the day look clear again?  
Are we recouerd? 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, me thinks?  VOLP. 
O, more, then if I had enjoyed the wench:  
The pleasure of all wóman-kind 's not like it.  MOS. 
Why, now you speak, Sir. We must, here be fixed;  
Here, we must rest; this is our maister-peice;  
We cannot think, to go beyond this.  VOLP. 
True.  
Thou'hast played thy prise, my precious Mosca.  MOS. 
Nay Sir,  
To guile the Court—  VOLP. 
And, quiter divert the torrent,  
Vpon the innocent.  MOS. 
Yes, and to make  
So rare a Musiqu●, out of discords—  VOLP. 
Right.  
That, yet, to me 's the strangest! how th'hast born it!  
That these( being so divided 'mongst themselves)  
Should not sent some-what, or in me, or thee,  
Or doubt their own side.  MOS. 
True. They will not see't;  
Too much light blinds 'hem, I think: each of 'hem  
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 devill.  MOS. 
Right Sir.  
Merchants may talk of trade, and your great Signiors  
Of land, that yields well; but if Italy  
Haue any glebe, more fruitful, then these fellowes,  
I am deceived. Did not your advocate rare?  VOLP. 
O, my m●st honoured Fathers, my grave Fathers,  
under correction of your Father-hoods,  
What face of truth is, here? If these strange deeds  
May pass, most honoured Fathers— I had much a do  
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 iudgement, 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 stil,  
When he would sh●ft a shirt; and, doing this  
Out of pure love, no hope of gain—  VOLP. 
'tis right.  
I cannot answer him, M●sca, as I would,  
Not yet; but, for thy sake, at thy intrea●y,  
I will begin, even now, to vex 'hem all:  
This very instant.  MOS. 
Good, Sir.  VOLP. 
Call the dwarf.  
And Eunuch, forth.  MOS. 
Castrone, Nano.  NAN. 
Here.  VOLP. 
Shall we haue a Iig, now?  MOS. 
What you please, Sir.  VOLP. 
go,  
Streight, 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 haue, instantly, my Vulture, Crow,  
raven, come flying hither( on the news)  
To perk for carrion, my shee-Wolfe, and all,  
Greedy, and full of expectation—  MOS. 
And then, to haue it ravished from their mouths?  VOLP. 
'tis true, I will ha' thee put on a gown,  
And take vpon thee, as thou wert mine heir;  
show 'hem a Will; Open that chest, and reach  
Forth one of those, that has the blanks. Ile strait  
Put in thy name.  MOS. 
It will be rare, Sir.  VOLP. 
I  
When they e'ene gape, 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. 
Ile say▪ it stunk, Sir; and was fain t' haue it  
coffined up instantly, and sent away.  VOLP. 
Any thing, what thou wilt. Hold, heres my Will.  
Get thee a cap, a count-booke, pen and ink,  
Papers afore thee; fit, as thou wert taking  
An inventory of parcels: Ile get up,  
Behind the curtine, on a stool, and harken;  
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, vpon it.  VOLP. 
It will take of his Oratories edge.  MOS 
But your Clarissimo, old round-backe, he  
Will crumpe you, like a hog-louse, with the touch.  VOLP. 
And what corvino?  MOS 
O, Sir, look for him,  
To morrow morning, with a rope, and 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.  VOL. 
Yes,  
And kist me before 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 'hem lovely,  
As't were the strange ●oëticall Girdle. jove  
Could not invent, t' himself, a shrowded more subtle,  
To pass Acrisius guards. It is the thing  
Makes all the world her grace, her youth, her beauty.  VOL. 
I think, she loues me.  MOS. 
Who? the Lady, Sir?  
Shee's jealous of you.  VOL. 
dost thou say so?  MOS. 
hark,  
There's some, already.  VOL. 
look.  MOS. 
It is the Vulture:  
he has the quickest sent.  VOLP. 
Ile to my place,  
Thou, to thy posture,  MOS. 
I am set.  VOLP. 
But, Mosca,  
Play the Artificer now, torture 'hem, rarely.   

ACT. 5. SCENE. 3.  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, Tissen—  VOLT. 
Where's the Will?  
Let me red 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 vellets, eight—  VOLT. 
I like his care.  CORB. 
Dost thou not hear?  CORV. 
Ha? is th' hour come, Mosca?  VOLP. 
I, 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 hem hence.  MOS. 
Six Chests of Diaper four of damask— There.  CORB. 
Is that the Will?  MOS. 
Downe-Beds, and bolsters—  VOLP. 
Rare!  
Bee busy still. Now, they begin to flutter:  
They never think of me. look, see, see see!  
How their swift eyes run over the long dead,  
unto the Name, and to the Legacies,  
What is bequeathed them, there—  MOS. 
Ten suits of Hanging●—  VOLP. 
I, 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 faintes My Lady will swoon. Old Glazen-eies,  
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 vpon me-  
Item, one Salt of Agai— 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. 
To morrow, or next day, I shall be at leisure,  
To talk with you all.  CORV. 
Is this my large hopes issue?  LAD. 
Sir, I must haue a fairer answer.  MOS 
madam?  
Mary, 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, eene your best Madames did  
For maintaynance, and why not you? enough.  
Go home, and use the poor Sir Poll. Your Knight, well;  
For fear I tell some riddles; Go, be melancholic.  VOLP. 
O, my fine devill!  CORV. 
Mosca, pray you a word.  MOS. 
Lord! will not you take your dispatch hence, yet?  
Me thinks( of all) you should haue 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 fain, haue been a wittoll,  
If fortune would haue let you? that you are  
A declared cuckolded, on good terms? This pearl,  
You'll say, was yours? right. This diamond?  
Ile not deny't, but thank you. Much here, else?  
It may be so. Why, think that these good works  
May help to hid your bad: Ile not betray you,  
Although you be but extraordinary,  
And haue it onely 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 haue found it.  CORB. 
I'am cozened, cheated, by a Parasite-slaue;  
Harlot, t'hast 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,  
Haue, any time this three year, snuffed about,  
With your most grou'ling nose; and would haue hired  
me, to the pois'ning of my Patron? Sir?  
Are not you he, that haue, to day, in Court,  
professed the dis-inheriting of your son?  
Periur'd yourself? go home, and die, and stink;  
If you but croake 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 troublesone.  VOL. 
Nay, leave off now, they are gone.  MOS. 
Why? who are you?  
What? who did sand for you? O'crie 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 travails:  
But, I protest, Sir, it was cast vpon me,  
And I could, almost, wish to be without it,  
But, that the will o'th' dead must be observed.  
Mary, my ioy is, that you need it not,  
You haue 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 haue 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 haue 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,  
Streight, take my habit of Clarissimo,  
And walk the streets; bee seen, torment 'hem more:  
Wee must pursew, as well as plot. Who would  
Haue lost this feast?  MOS. 
I doubt, it will loose them.  VOLP. 
O, my recovery shall recover all,  
That I could now but think on some disguise,  
To meet 'hem in: and ask 'hem questions.  
How I would vex 'hem still, at every turn?  MOS. 
Sir, I can fit you.  VOLP. 
Canst thou?  MOS. 
Yes. I know  
One o'the Commandadori, Sir, so like you,  
Him will I streight make drunk, and bring you his habit.  VOLP. 
A rare disguise, and answering thy brain!  
O, I will be a sharp disease unto' hem.  MOS. 
Sir, you must look for curses—  VOLP. 
Till they burst;  
The fox fares ever best, when he is cursed.   

ACT. 5. SCENE. 4.  PEREGRINE. MERCATORI. 3. WOMAN. POLITIQVE. 
AM I enough disguised?  MER. 1. 
I warrant you.  PER. 
All my ambition is to fright him, onely.  MER. 2. 
If you could ship him away, twere excellent,  MER. 3. 
To Zant, or to Alepo?  PER. 
Yes, and haue's  
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 faire Lady. Is Sir Poll. within?  WOM. 
I do not know, Sir.  PER. 
pray you, say unto him,  
Here is a merchant, vpon 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 sai's, 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 bee  
His grave affair of State, now? how, to make  
Bolognian sauseges, here, in Venice, sparing  
One o' th' Ingredients.  WOM. 
Sir, he sai's, he knows  
By your word tidings, that you are no States-man,  
And therefore, wills you stay.  PER. 
Sweet, pray you return him,  
I haue not red so many Proclamations,  
And studied them, for words, as he has done—  
But, here he deignes to come.  POL. 
Sir! I must crave  
Your courteous pardon; There hath chanced( to day)  
unkind disaster,' twìxt my Lady, and me:  
And I was penning my apology  
To give her satisfaction, as you came, now.  PER. 
Sir, I am greiu'd, I bring you worse disaster;  
The Gentleman, you met at th' Port, to day,  
That  told you, he was newly arrived—  POL. 
I, 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 haue a plot,  
To sell the State of Venice, to the turk.  POL. 
O' me.  PER. 
For which, warrants are signed by this time,  
To apprehended you, and to search your study,  
For papers—  POL. 
alas, Sir. I haue none, but notes,  
drawn out of Play-bookes—  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 lye round, a frail were rare:  
And I could sand you, aboard  POL. 
Sir, I but talked so,  
For discourse sake, merely.  PER. 
hark, they are there▪  POL. 
I am a wretch, a wretch.  PER. 
What, will you do Sir?  
Ha you nere a Curren-Butt to leap into?  
They'll put you to the Rack, you must be sudden.  POL. 
Sir, I haue an engine—  MER. 3. 
Sir politic Would-be?  MER. 2. 
Where is he?  POL. 
That I haue thought vpon, before time.  PER. 
What is it?  POL. 
I shall nêre endure the torture.  
Mary, it is, Sir, of a Tortoyse-shell,  
Apted, for these extremities: pray you Sir, help me.  
Here, I' haue a place, Sir, to put back my legs,  
Please you to lay it on, Sir, with this cap,  
And my black gloves, Iie lye, Sir, like a tortoise,  
Till they are gone,  PER. 
And, call you this an engine?  POL. 
Mine own devise— Good Sir, bid my wives women  
To burn my papers.  MER. 1. 
Where's he hide?  MER. 3. 
we must,  
And will, sure, find him.  MER. 2. 
Which is his study?  MER. 1. 
What  
Are you, Sir?  PER. 
I'am a merchant, that came here  
To look vpon this tortoise.  MER. 3. 
Howe?  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 vpon him:  
he'll bear a cart.  MER. 1. 
What, to run over him?  PER. 
Yes.  MER. 3. 
lets jump, vpon him;  MER. 2. 
Can he not go?  PER. 
He creeps Sir.  MER. 1. 
lets see him creep  PER. 
No, good Sir, you will hurt him.  MER. 2. 
( Heart) Ile 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. 
Wee'll see his legs.  MER. 3. 
Gods' so he has garters!  MER. 1. 
I, and gloves!  MER. 2. 
Is this▪  
Your fearful tortoise?  PER. 
Now, Sir Poll. Wee are even;  
For your next project, I shall bee prepared:  
I am sorry, for the funeral of your notes, Sir.  MER. 1. 
'twere a rare motion, to be seen in Fleete-street!  MER. 2. 
I, i' the term.  MER. 1. 
Or Smithfield, in the Faire.  MER. 3. 
Me thinks, 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 bee the fable of all feasts;  
The fraught of the Gazetti; ship-boies tale;  
And, which is worst, even talk for Ordinaries.  WOM 
My Lady's come most melancholic, home,  
And says, Sir, she will strait 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. 4. SCENE. 5.  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. 
before heaven, a brave Clarissimo, thou becom'st it!  
Pitty, thou wert not born one.  MOS. 
If I hold  
My made one, 'twill be well.  VOLP. 
Ile 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,  
Ile make him languish, in his borrowed case,  
Except he come to composition, with me:  
Androgyno, Castrone, Nano.  ALL. 
Here.  MOS. 
Go, recreate yourselves, abroad; go, sport:  
So, now I haue the keys, and am possessed.  
Since he will, needs, be dead, afore his time,  
Ile bury him, or gain by him; I'am his heir:  
And so will keep me, till he share at least.  
To cousin 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 FOXE-trap.   

ACT. 5. SCENE. 6.  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, haue killed me.  CORV. 
That's true, I had forgot; Mine is, I am sure  
But, for your Will, Sir.  CORB. 
I, Ile come vpon him,  
For that, hereafter; now his Patron's dead.  VOLP. 
signor corvino! and Corbaccio! Sir,  
Much ioy unto you.  CORV. 
Of what?  VOLP. 
The sudden good,  
dropped down vpon you—  CORB. 
Where?  VOLP. 
( And, none knows how)  
From old Volpone, Sir.  CORB. 
Out, errand knave.  VOLP. 
Let not your too much wealth, Sir, make you 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 withall: I love your spirit.  
You are not ouer-leauend, 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 Rascall.  VOLP. 
' Troth, your wife has shew'ne  
herself a very woman; but, you are well,  
You need not care, you haue a good estate,  
To bear it out Sir: better, by this chance.  
Except Corbaccio haue a share?  CORV. 
Hence varlet.  VOLP. 
You will not be a' known, Sir: why, 'tis wise,  
Thus do all Gam'sters, at all games, dissemble;  
No man will seem to win: here, comes my Vulture,  
heaving his beak up i' the air, and snuffing.   

ACT. 5. SCENE. 7.  VOLTORE. VOLPONE. 
OVt-stript thus, by a Parasite? a slave?  
Would run on errands? and make legs, for crumbs?  
Well, what Ile do—  VOLP. 
The Court stays for your worship.  
I eêne rejoice, Sir, at your worships 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, êre he grew diseased,  
A handsome, pretty, custom'd▪ baudy-house,  
As any was in Venice( none disprais'd)  
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 haue done.  
'tis a mere toy, to you, Sir; candle rents:  
As your learned worship knows—  VOLT. 
What do I know?  VOLP. 
Mary, no end of your wealth, Sir, God decrease it.  VOLT. 
Mistaking knave! what, mockst thou my mis-fortune?  VOLP. 
His blessing on your heart, Sir, would 'twere more.  
Now, to my first, again; at the next corner.   

ACT. 5. SCENE. 8.  CORBACCIO. CORVINO.( MOSCA passant) VOLPONE. 
SEE, in our habit! see the impudent varlet!  CORV. 
That I could shoot mine eyes at him, like gunstones.  VOLP. 
But, is this true, Sir, of the Parasite?  CORB. 
again, t'afflict us? Monster!  VOLP. 
In good faith, Sir,  
I'am heartily grieved, a beard of your grave length  
Should be so ouer-reach'd. I never brooked  
That Parasites hair, me thought his nose should cousin,  
There still was somewhat, in his look, did promise  
The bane of a Clarissimo.  CORB. 
knave—  VOLP. 
me thinks,  
Yet you, that are so traded i'the world,  
A witty merchant, the fine bide, corvino,  
That haue such moral emblems on your name,  
Should not haue sung your shane; and dropped your cheese:  
To let the fox laugh at your emptiness.  CORV. 
Sirrah, you think, the privilege of the place,  
And your read saucy cap, that seems( to me)  
nailed to your iolt-head, with those two Cecchines,  
Can warrant your abuses; come you, hither:  
You shall perceive, Sir, I dare beate you. approach.  VOLP. 
No hast, Sir, I do know your valour, well,  
Since you durst publish what you are, Sir.  CORV. 
Tarry,  
I'd speak, with you.  VOLP. 
Sir, another time—  CORV. 
Nay, now.  VOLP. 
O God, Sir! I were a wise man  
Would stand the fury of a distracted cuckolded.  CORB. 
What! come again?  VOLP. 
Vpon 'hem, Mosca; save me.  CORB. 
The air's infected, where he breaths.  CORV. 
Lets fly him.  VOLP. 
Excellent basilisk! turn vpon the Vulture.   

ACT. 5. SCENE. 9.  VOLTORE. MOSCA. VOLPONE. 
WEll, flesh-flie, it is summer with you now;  
Your Winter will come on,  MOS. 
Good advocate,  
pray thee, not rail, nor threaten out of place, thus;  
Thoult make a scepticism( as Madam says)  
Get you a biggen, more: your brain breaks loose.  VOLT. 
Well, Sir.  VOLP. 
Would you haue me beate 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 red 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 iest; he has not done't:  
This 's but confederacy, to blind the rest.  
You are the heir?  VOLT. 
A strange, officious,  
Trouble-some knave! thou dost torment me.  VOLP. 
I know—  
It cannot bee, 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. 5. SCENE. 10.  AVOCATORI. 4. NOTARIO. COMMANDADORI. BONARIO. CELIA. CORBACCIO. CORVINO. VOLTORE. VOLPONE. 
ARe all the parties, here?  NOT. 
All but the advocate.  AVOC. 2 
And, here he comes.  AVOC. 
Then bring 'hem forth to sentence.  VOLT. 
O, my most honoured Fathers, let your mercy  
Once win vpon your iustice, to forgive—  
I am distracted—  VOLP. 
What will he do, now?  VOLP. 
O,  
I know not which to address myself to, first,  
Whether your Father-hoods, or these innocents—  CORV. 
Will he betray himself,  VOLT. 
whom, equally,  
I haue abused, out of most covetous ends—  CORV. 
The man is mad!  CORB. 
What's that?  CORV. 
he is possessed.  VOLT. 
For which; now strooke in conscience, here I prostrate  
myself, at your offended feet, for pardon.  AVOC. 1. 2. 
Arise.  CEL. 
O heaven, how just thou art!  VOLP. 
I'am caught  
I' mine own noose—  CORV. 
Be constant. Sir, nought now  
Can help, but impudence.  AVOC. 1. 
speak forward.  come. 
Silence.  VOLT. 
It is not passion in me, reverend Fathers,  
But onely conscience, conscience, my good Sires,  
That makes me, now, tell truth. That Parasite,  
That knave hath been the instrument of all—  AVOC. 
Where is that knave? fetch him.  VOLP. 
I go.  CORV. 
grave Fathers,  
This man's distracted, he confessed it, now;  
For, hoping to bee old Volpone's heir,  
Who now is dead—  AVOC. 3. 
How?  AVOC. 2. 
Is Volpone dead?  CORV. 
Dead since, grave Fathers—  BON. 
O sure vengeance▪  AVOC. 1. 
Stay,—  
Then, he was no deceiver?  VOLT. 
O, no, none:  
The Parasite, grave Fathers—  CORV. 
He does speak,  
Out of more envy, 'cause the seruant's made  
The thing, he gaped for; please your Father-hoods,  
This is the truth: though, Ile not justify  
The other, but he may bee somewhere faulty.  VOLT. 
I, to your hopes, as well as mine, Coruinoc  
But Ile 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 devill has entred him.  BON. 
Or bides in you.  AVOC. 4 
Wee haue done ill, by a public Officer,  
To sand for him, if he be heir;  AVOC. 2. 
For whom?  AVOC 4. 
Him, that they call the Parasite.  AVOC. 3. 
'tis true;  
He is a man, of great estate, now left.  AVOC. 4. 
go you, and learn his name; and say, the Court  
entreats his presence, here: but, to the clearing  
Of some few doubts.  AVOC. 2. 
This same's a labyrinth!  AVOC. 1. 
Stand you unto your first report?  CORV. 
My state,  
My life, my famed—  BON. 
Where is' t?  CORV. 
Are at the stake  AVOC. 1. 
Is yours so too?  CORB. 
The advocate's a knave:  
And has a forked tongue—  AVOC. 2. 
speak to the point.  CORB. 
So is the Parasite, too.  AVOC. 1. 
This is confusion.  VOLT. 
I do beseech your Father-hoods, red but those;  CORV. 
And credit nothing, the false spirit hath writ  
It cannot be( my Sires) but he is possessed.   

ACT. 5. SCENE. 11.  VOLPONE. NANO. ANDROGYNO. CASTRONE. 
TO make a snare, for mine own neck! and run  
My head into it, wilfully! with laughter!  
When I had newly scap't, was free, and clear!  
Out of more wantonness! o, the dull devill  
Was in this brain of mine, when I devised it;  
And Mosca gave it second: Hè must now  
help to sear up this vein, or we bleed dead.  
How now! who let you loose? whether go you, now?  
What? to buy Ginger-bread? 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 father, 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, then my fear.  
Bid him he, streight, come to me, to the Court;  
Thether will I; and, if' the possible,  
Vn-screw my advocate, vpon new hopes:  
When I prouok'd him, then I lost myself.   

ACT. 5. SCENE. 10.  AVOCATORI, &c. 
THese things can nêre be reconciled. He, here,  
Professeth, that the Gentleman was wronged;  
And that the Gentlewoman was brought thether,  
forced by her husband: and there left.  VOLT. 
Most true.  CEL. 
How ready is heaven to those, that pray.  AVOC. 1. 
But, that  
Volpone would haue 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.  AVOC. 3. 
Here comes our Officer.  VOLP. 
The Parasite will streight be, here, grave Fathers.  AVOC. 4. 
You might invent some other name, Sir varlet.  AVOC. 3. 
Did not the notary meet him?  VOLP. 
Not, that I know.  AVOC. 4. 
His coming will clear all.  AVOC. 2. 
Yet it is misty.  VOLT. 
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, onely a iest—  VOLT. 
How?  VOLP. 
Sir, to try  
If you were firm, and how you stood affencted.  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:  
Ile 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 poulters shop!  
His mouth's running away! Do you see, signor?  
Now, 'tis in his belly!  CORV. 
I, the devill!  VOLP. 
Now, in his throat.  CORV. 
I, I perceive it plain.  VOLP. 
'twill out, 'twill out; stand clear. See, where it flies!  
In shape of a blew 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' himself!  VOLT. 
Where am I?  VOLP. 
Take good heart, the worst is past, Sir.  
You are dis-possest.  AVOC. 1. 
What accident is this?  AVOC. 2. 
sudden, and full of wonder!  AVOC. 3. 
If he were  
possessed, as it appears, all this is nothing.  CORV. 
He has been, often, subject to these fits.  AVOC. 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 practise!  AVOC. 2. 
What maze is this!  AVOC. 1. 
Is he not guilty, then,  
whom you, there, name the Parasite?  VOLT. 
grave Fathers,  
No more then, his good Patron, old Volpone.  AVOC. 4. 
Why, he is dead?  VOLT. 
O no, my honoured Fathers,  
he lives—  AVOC. 1. 
How! lives?  VOLT. 
lives.  AVOC. 2. 
This is subtler, yet!  AVOC. 3. 
You said, he was dead?  VOLT. 
never.  AVOC. 3. 
You said so?  CORV. 
I heard so.  AVOC. 4. 
Here comes the Gentleman, make him way.  AVOC. 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:  
Al's on 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. 
I, quick, and cousin me of all.  AVOC. 2. 
Still stranger!  
More intricate!  AVOC. 1. 
And come about, again!  AVOC. 4 
It is a match, my daughter is bestowed.  MOS. 
( Will you gi' me half?  VOLP. 
First, Ile bee hanged.  MOS. 
I know,  
Your voice is good, cry not so low'd)  AVOC. 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 haue 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?)  AVOC. 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 born,  
With all good stars my enemies.)  MOS. 
Most grave Fathers,  
If such an insolence, as this, must pass  
Vpon me, I am silent: 'twas not this,  
For which you sent, I hope.  AVOC. 2. 
Take him away.  ( VOLP. 
Mosca.)  AVOC. 3. 
Let him be whipped.  ( VOLP. 
Wilt thou betray me?  
cousin me?)  AVOC. 3. 
And taught, to bear himself  
Toward a person of his rank.  AVOC. 4. 
Away.  MOS. 
I humbly thank your Father-hoods.  VOLP. 
Soft, soft: whipped?  
And loose all that I haue? If I confess,  
It cannot bee much more.  AVOC. 4. 
Sir, are you married?  VOLP. 
They'll bee allied, anon; I must be resolute:  
The fox shall, here, uncase.  ( MOS. 
Patron.)  VOLP. 
Nay, now,  
My ruins shall not come alone; your match  
Ile 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, auarices fool;  
This, a Chimaera of Wittall, 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 Father-hoods—  come. 
Silence.  AVOC. 1. 
The knot is now undone, by miracle!  AVOC. 2. 
Nothing can be more clear.  AVOC. 3. 
Or, can more prove  
These innocent.  AVOC. 1. 
give 'hem their liberty.  BON. 
heaven could not, long, let such gross crimes be hide.  AVOC. 2. 
If this be held the high way, to get riches,  
May I be poor.  AVOC. 3. 
This's not the game, but torment.  AVOC. 1. 
These possess wealth, as sick men possess fevers,  
Which, trulyer, may be said to possess them.  AVOC. 2. 
Disroabe that Parasite.  CORV. 
Mo●●▪ honoured Fathers—  AVOC. 1. 
Can you pled ought to stay the course of Iustice?  
If you can, speak.  CORV. VOLT. 
We beg favor,  CEL. 
And mercy.  AVOC. 1. 
You hurt your innocence, suing for the guilty.  
Stand forth; and, first, the Parasite. You appear  
T' haue been the chiefest minister, if not plotter,  
In all these lewd impostures; and now, lastly,  
Haue, 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 Gallies.  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 iudgement on thee  
Is, that thy substance all be strait confiscate  
To the hospital, of the Incurab●l●:  
And, since the most was gotten by imposture,  
By feigning l●me, go●t, palsy and such diseases,  
Thou art to he in prison, cramped with irons,  
Till thou be'st sick, and lame indeed. remove him.  VOLP. 
This is called mortifiyng of a fox.  AVOC. 1. 
Thou Voliore, to take away the scandal  
Thou hast given all worthy men, of thy profession,  
Art banished from their Fellowship, and our State.  
Corbacci●, bring him near. We here possess  
Thy son, of all thy' estate; and confine thee  
To the Monastery of sand' Spirito:  
Where since thou knewest not how to live well here,  
Thou shalt be learned to die well.  CORB. 
Ha! what said he?  come. 
You shall know anon, Sir.  AVOC. 
Thou corvino, shalt  
Be strait imbarqu'd from thine own house, and rowed  
Round about Venice, through the grand canal,  
Wearing a cap, with fair, long Asses ears,  
In stead o● h●rnes: and so, to mount( a paper  
pined on thy breast) to the Berlin●—  CORV. 
Yes,  
And, haue mine eyes beat out with stinking fish,  
Brus d fruit and rotten eggs— 'tis well. I' am glad,  
I shall not see my shane, yet.  AVOC. 1. 
And to expiate  
Thy wrongs done to thy wife, thou art to sand her  
Home, to her father, with her dowry treble:  
And these are all your judgements—( ALL. honoured Fathers.)  AVOC. 1. 
Which may not be reuok'd. 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' hem. mischiefs feed  
Like beasts, till they bee 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 Iouially, and clap your hands.    
THE END.