CEL: No!

CORV: Faith I am not I, nor never was; It is a poor unprofitable humour.

Do not I know, if women have a will, They'll do 'gainst all the watches of the world, And that the feircest spies are tamed with gold?

Tut, I am confident in thee, thou shalt see't; And see I'll give thee cause too, to believe it.

Come kiss me. Go, and make thee ready, straight, In all thy best attire, thy choicest jewels, Put them all on, and, with them, thy best looks: We are invited to a solemn feast, At old Volpone's, where it shall appear How far I am free from jealousy or fear.

[exeunt.]

ACT 3. SCENE 3.1.

A STREET.

ENTER MOSCA.

MOS: I fear, I shall begin to grow in love With my dear self, and my most prosperous parts, They do so spring and burgeon; I can feel A whimsy in my blood: I know not how, Success hath made me wanton. I could skip Out of my skin, now, like a subtle snake, I am so limber. O! your parasite Is a most precious thing, dropt from above, Not bred 'mongst clods, and clodpoles, here on earth.

I muse, the mystery was not made a science, It is so liberally profest! almost All the wise world is little else, in nature, But parasites, or sub-parasites.-And yet, I mean not those that have your bare town-art, To know who's fit to feed them; have no house, No family, no care, and therefore mould Tales for men's ears, to bait that sense; or get Kitchen-invention, and some stale receipts To please the belly, and the groin; nor those, With their court dog-tricks, that can fawn and fleer, Make their revenue out of legs and faces, Echo my lord, and lick away a moth: But your fine elegant rascal, that can rise, And stoop, almost together, like an arrow; Shoot through the air as nimbly as a star; Turn short as doth a swallow; and be here, And there, and here, and yonder, all at once; Present to any humour, all occasion; And change a visor, swifter than a thought!

This is the creature had the art born with him; Toils not to learn it, but doth practise it Out of most excellent nature: and such sparks Are the true parasites, others but their zanis.

[ENTER BONARIO.]

MOS: Who's this? Bonario, old Corbaccio's son?

The person I was bound to seek.-Fair sir, You are happily met.

BON: That cannot be by thee.

MOS: Why, sir?

BON: Nay, pray thee know thy way, and leave me: I would be loth to interchange discourse With such a mate as thou art

MOS: Courteous sir, Scorn not my poverty.

BON: Not I, by heaven; But thou shalt give me leave to hate thy baseness.

MOS: Baseness!

BON: Ay; answer me, is not thy sloth Sufficient argument? thy flattery?

Thy means of feeding?

MOS: Heaven be good to me!

These imputations are too common, sir, And easily stuck on virtue when she's poor.

You are unequal to me, and however, 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.

[WEEPS.]

BON [ASIDE.]: What! does he weep? the sign is soft and good; I do repent me that I was so harsh.

MOS: 'Tis true, that, sway'd by strong necessity, I am enforced to eat my careful bread With too much obsequy; 'tis true, beside, That I am fain to spin mine own poor raiment Out of my mere observance, being not born To a free fortune: but that I have done Base offices, in rending friends asunder, Dividing families, betraying counsels, Whispering false lies, or mining men with praises, Train'd their credulity with perjuries, Corrupted chast.i.ty, 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 [ASIDE.]: This cannot be a personated pa.s.sion.- I was to blame, so to mistake thy nature; Prithee, forgive me: and speak out thy business.

MOS: Sir, it concerns you; and though I may seem, At first to make a main offence in manners, And in my grat.i.tude unto my master; Yet, for the pure love, which I bear all right, And hatred of the wrong, I must reveal it.

This very hour your father is in purpose To disinherit you-

BON: How!

MOS: And thrust you forth, As a mere stranger to his blood; 'tis true, sir: The work no way engageth me, but, as I claim an interest in the general state Of goodness and true virtue, which I hear To abound in you: and, for which mere respect, Without a second aim, sir, I have done it.

BON: This tale hath lost thee much of the late trust Thou hadst with me; it is impossible: I know not how to lend it any thought, My father should be so unnatural.

MOS: It is a confidence that well becomes Your piety; and form'd, no doubt, it is From your own simple innocence: which makes Your wrong more monstrous, and abhorr'd. But, sir, I now will tell you more. This very minute, It is, or will be doing; and, if you Shall be but pleas'd to go with me, I'll bring you, I dare not say where you shall see, but where Your ear shall be a witness of the deed; Hear yourself written b.a.s.t.a.r.d; and profest The common issue of the earth.

BON: I am amazed!

MOS: Sir, if I do it not, draw your just sword, And score your vengeance on my front and face; Mark me your villain: you have too much wrong, And I do suffer for you, sir. My heart Weeps blood in anguish-

BON: Lead; I follow thee.

[EXEUNT.]

SCENE 3.2.

A ROOM IN VOLPONE'S HOUSE.

ENTER VOLPONE.

VOLP: Mosca stays long, methinks. Bring forth your sports, And help to make the wretched time more sweet.

[ENTER NANO, ANDROGYNO, AND CASTRONE.]

NAN: Dwarf, fool, and eunuch, well met here we be.

A question it were now, whether of us three, Being all the known delicates of a rich man, In pleasing him, claim the precedency can?

CAS: I claim for myself.

AND: And so doth the fool.

NAN: 'Tis foolish indeed: let me set you both to school.

First for your dwarf, he's little and witty, And every thing, as it is little, is pretty; Else why do men say to a creature of my shape, So soon as they see him, It's a pretty little ape?

And why a pretty ape, but for pleasing imitation Of greater men's actions, in a ridiculous fashion?

Beside, this feat body of mine doth not crave Half the meat, drink, and cloth, one of your bulks will have.

Admit your fool's face be the mother of laughter, Yet, for his brain, it must always come after: And though that do feed him, 'tis a pitiful case, His body is beholding to such a bad face.

[KNOCKING WITHIN.]

VOLP: Who's there? my couch; away! look! Nano, see: [EXE. AND. AND CAS.]

Give me my caps, first-go, enquire.