CORVINO

Why? what? wherein? He is not dead? How shall I do, then? I have brought him, here, a pearl. Venice was never owner of the Like. How do you, sir? Tell him, it doubles the twelve caract. Say, I have a diamant for him, too. Alas, good gentleman! How pitiful the sighed is! Why? am I his heir? Oh, my deer MOSCA. Do's he not perceive us? Has he children? That's well, that's well. Art sure he does not hear us? Or, Like and old smoked wall, on which the rain Ran down in streaks. His nose is Like a common sewre, still running. A very draught. By no means. Do as you will, but I'll be gone. I pray you, use no violence. Nay, at your discretion. I will not trouble him now, to take my pearl? Grateful MOSCA! Thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion, My partner, and shalt share in all my Fortune's. What's that? What coul'dst thou propose Less to thy self, then, in this heat of wrath, And stung with my dishonour, I should strike This steel unto thee, with as many stabs, As thou Wertenberg gazed upon with goatish eyes? No? not to seek, and entertain a parlee, With a known knave? before a multitude? You were and actor, with your handkerchief! Which he, most sweetly, kissed in the receipt, And might (no doubt) return it, with a letter, And point the place, where you might meet: your sisters, Your mother's, or your ants might serve the turn. Well, it shall be less; And thy restraint, before, was liberty, To what I now decree: and therefore, mark me. First, I will have this bawdy light damed up; And, till it be done, some two, or three yards off, I'll chalk a line: over which, if thou but chance To set thy desperate foot; more hell, more horror, More wild, remorceless rage shall seize on thee, Then on a conjurer, that, had heedless left His circles safety, ere his devil was laid. Then, here's a lock, which I will hang upon thee; And, now I think on't, I will keep thee backwards; Thy lodging shall be backwards; thy walks backwards; Thy prospect-all be backwards; and no pleasure, That thou shalt know but backwards: Nay, since you force My honest nature, know, it is your own Being too open, makes me use you thus. Since you will not contain your subtle nostrils In a sweet room, but they must snuff the air Of rank, and sweaty passengers—One knocks. Away, and be not seen, pain of thy life; Not look towards the windore: if thou dost— (Nay stay, hear this) let me not prosper, whore, But I will make thee and anatomy, Dissect thee mine own self, and read a lecture Upon thee, to the city, and in public. Away. Who's there? Is't not his death? Not his recovery? I am cursed, I am bewitched, my crosses meet to vex me. How? how? how? how? Death! that damned mountebanke! but, for the law, Now, I could kill the rascal: it cannot be, His oil should have that virtue. have not I Known him a common rogue, come fiddling in To the osteria , with a tumbling whore, And, when he ha done all his forced tricks, been glad Of a poor spoonful of dead wine, with flies in't? It cannot be. All his ingredients Aream sheeps gall, a roasted bitches marrow, Some few sod earwigs, pounded caterpillars, A little capons grease, and fasting spittle: I know them, to a dram. POX of that fricace. Death to my Hope's! This is my villainous fortune! Best to hire Some common courtesan? It's true. How! His daughter? I pray thee give me leave. If any man But I had had this luck—The thing in't self, I know, is nothing—Wherefore should not I As well command my blood, and my affections, As this dull Doctor? In the point of honour, The cases are all one, of wife, and daughter. She shall doo't: It's done. Slight, if this Doctor, who is not engaged, Unless it be for his counsel (which is nothing) Offer his daughter, what should I, that am So deeply in? I will prevent him: wretch! Covetous wretch! MOSCA, I have determined. We'll make all sure. The party, you wot of, Shall be mine own wife, MOSCA. I, a plague on't, My conscience fools my wit. Well, I'll be brief, And so be thou, lest they should be before us; Go home, prepare him, tell him, with what zeal, And willingness, I do it: swear it was, On the first hearing (as thou mayest do, truly) Mine own free motion. But do not you forget to send, now. 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 against all the watches, of the world? And that the fiercest spies, are tamed with gold? Tut, I am confident in thee, thou shalt see't: And see, I'll give thee cause too, to believe it. Come, kiss me. Go, and make thee ready straight, In all thy best attire, thy choicest jewels, Put 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. I Fear, I shall begin to grow in love With my deer 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. Oh! Your Parasite Is a most precious thing, dropped from above, Not bred amongst 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 have your bore towne-arte, 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 reuennue out of legs, and faces, Echo my-Lord, and lick away a moath: But your fine, elegant rascal, that can rise, And stoop (almost together) Like and arrow; Shoot through the air, as nimbly as a star; Turn short, as does 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 does practice it Out of most excellent nature: and such sparks, Are the true Parasites, others but their Zant's. WHo's this? BONARIO? old CORBACCIO's son? The person I was bound to seek. Fair sir, You are haply met. Yes, but I feared You might forget it, and then they prevent us. Where are you, CELIA? You know not wherefore I have brought you hither? Now, I will: Hark hither. Nay, now, there is no starting back; and therefore, Resolve upon it: I have so decreed. It must be done. Nor, would I moue't afore, Because I would avoid all shifts and tricks, That might deny me. Believe it, I have no such humour, I. All that I speak, I mean; yet I am not mad: Not horn-mad, see you? Go too, show your self Obedient, and a wife. I say it, Do so. I'haue told you reasons; What the physicians have set down; how much, It may concern me; what my engagements are; My means; and the necessity of those means, For my recovery: wherefore, it you be Loyal, and mine, be won, respect my venture. Honour? tut, a breath; There's no such thing, in nature: a mere term Invented to awe fools. What is my gold The worse, for touching? clothes, for being looked on? Why, this is no more. And old, decrepit wretch, That ha no sense, no sinew; takes his meat With others fingers; only knows to gape, When you do scald his gums; a voice; a shadow; And, what can this man hurt you? And for your fame, That's such a Jig; as if I would go tell it, Cry it, on the piazza ! who shall know it? But he, that cannot speak it; and this fellow, Whose lips are in my pocket: save your self, If you'll proclaime't, you may. I know no other, Should come to know it. How? I grant you: if I thought it were a sin, I would not urge you. Should I offer this To some young Frenchman , or hight Tuscan blood, That had read ARETINE, conned all his prints, Knew every quirk within lustest labyrinth, And were professed critique, in lechery; And I would look upon him, and applaud him, This were a sin: but here, it's contrary, A pious work, mere charity, for physic, And honest polity, to assure mine own. Come on, what— You will not be rebellious? by that light— Thanks, sweet MOSCA. Well. It's well urged. Heart of my father! Wilt thou persist thus? come, I pray thee, come. Thou seest it's nothing. CELIA. By this hand, I shall grow violent. Come, do't, I say. Be damned. (Heart) I will drag thee hence, home, by the hair; Cry thee a strumpet, through the streets; rip up Thy mouth, unto thine ears; and slit thy nose, Like a raw rotchet—Do not tempt me, come. Yield, I am loath— (Death) I will buy some slave, Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him, alive; And at my windore, hang you forth: devising Some monstrous crime, which I, in capital letters, Will eat into thy flesh, with aquafortis , And burning corrosives, on this stubborn breast. Now, by the blood, thou hast incensed, isle do't. Be not thus obstinate. I have not deserved it: Think, who it is, intreats you. pray thee, sweet; (Good faith) thou shalt have jewels, gowns, attires, What thou wilt think, and ask. Do, but, go kiss him. Or touch him, but. For my sake. At my suit. This once. No? not? I shall remember this. Will you disgrace me, thus? do' you thirst my'vndoing? No, no. She has watched her time. God's precious, this is skiruy; It's very skirvie: and you are— And errant locust, by heaven, a locust. Whore, Crocodile, that hast thy thy tears prepared, Expecting, how thou'lt bid them flow. ('Sdeath) if she would but speak to him, And save my reputation, 'twere somewhat; But, spitefully to affect my utter ruin. Sweet CELIA, Thou mayest redeem all, yet; I'll say no more: If not, esteem your self as lost. Nay, stay there. Yes. But, knows the Advocate the truth? I fear no one, but him; that, this his pleading Should make him stand for a coheir— I, what shall he do? Yes. This woman (please your fatherhoods) is a whore, Of most hight exercise, more then a partridge, Upon record— Neighs, Like a jennet. I shall, And modesty of your most reverend ears. And, yet, I hope that I may say, these eyes Have seen her glued unto that piece of cedar; That fine well-timbered gallant: and that, here, The letters may be read, through the horn, That make the story perfect. There is no shame in this, now, is there? 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 catholic May make the doubt. Prettily feigned! again! Most impetuous! Unsatisfied, graven father's! Yes. Nay, I considered that: Now, it is her fault. True, I do doubt this Advocate, still. I trust thee, MOSCA. Would? is the hour come, MOSCA? What do's the advocate here? Or this CORBACCIO? MOSCA, the will, That I may show it these, and rid them hence. But, MOSCA— Is this in earnest? Or, do you but delude me? Is this my large Hope's issue? MOSCA, pray you a word. We must maintain Our first tale good, for both our reputations. That's true, I had forgotten: mine is, I am sure. But, for your will, sir. Of what? Avoid, you rascal. That I could shoot mine eyes at him, Like gun-stones. Sirrah, you think, the privilege of the place, And your read saucy cap, that seems (to me) Nailed to your jolthead, with those two cecchines , Can warrant your abuses; come you, hither: You shall perceive, sir, I dare beat you. Approach. Tarry, I'd speak, with you. Nay, now. Lets fly him. He is possessed.) Be constant, sir, nought now Can help, but impudence. Grave father's, This man's distracted; he confessed it, now: For, hoping to be old VOLPONE'S heir, Who now is dead — Dead since, graven father's— He do's speak, Out of mere envy, because the servant's made The thing, he gaped for; please your fatherhoods, This is the truth: though, I'll not justify The other, but he may be somedeal faulty. The devil ha entered him! My state, My life, my fame— Are at the stake. And credit nothing, the false spirit hath writ: It cannot be, but he is possessed, graven father's. TO make a snare, for mine own neck! and run My head into it, wilfully! with laughter! When I had newly scaped, was free, and clear! Out of mere wantonness! O, the dull devil Was in this brain of mine, when I devised it; And MOSCA gave it second: he must now Help to ear up this vein, or we bleed dead. How now! who let you lose? whither go you, now? What? to buy gingerbread? or to drown kitlings? Grave father's, he is possessed; again, I say, Possessed: nay, if there be possession, And obsession, he has both. It's too manifest. He has been, often, subbiect to these fits, I herd so. May it please your fatherhoods— Yes, And, have mine eyes Beatrice out with stinking fish, Bruised fruit, and rotten eggs—It's well. I'am glad, I shall not see my shame, yet. Will he betray himself?) The man is mad? I, the devil!) I, I perceive it plain.)