MOSCA

And what he will, sir. Riches are in fortune A greater good, then wisdom is in nature. No, sir, nor devour Soft prodigals. You shall have some will swallow A melting heir, as glibly, as your Dutch Will pills of butter, and never purge for't; Tear forth the father's 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 does abhor these courses; You loath, the widows, or the orphans tears Should wash your pavements; or their piteous cries Ring in your roofs; and beat the air, for vengeance.— And beside, sir, You are not Like the thresher, that does 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 lie in straw, while 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 obseru r, Or to your dwarf, or your hermaphrodite , Your eunuch, or what other household-trifle Your pleasure allows maintenance.— If it please my patron, Not else. Then it was, sir. Fools, they are the only nation Worth men's envy, or admiration; Free from care, or sorrow-taking, Selves, and others merrymaking: All they speak, or do, is sterling. Your Fool, he is your great men darling, And your ladies sport, and pleasure; Tongue, and babble are his treasure. Eene his face begetteth laughter, And he speaks truth, free from slaughter; He's the grace of every feast, And, sometime, the chiefest guest: Hath his trencher, and his stool, When wit waits upon the fool. Oh, who would not be He, he, he? Fool, begone, It's signior VOLTORE, the Advocate, I know him, by his knock. A piece of plate, sir. Huge, Massy, and antique, with your name inscribed, And arm S engraved. Sharp, sir. I cannot choose, sir, when I apprehend What thoughts he has (without) now, as he uva kes: 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 be, and reverenced; Ride, with his furs, and foot-clothes; waited on By herds of fools, and clients; have clear way Made for his moil, as lettered as himself; Be called the great, and learned Advocate: And then concludes, there's nought impossible. Oh, no: rich Implies it. Hood and ass, with reverend purple, So you can hide his two ambitious ears, And, he shall pass for a cathedral Doctor. Stay, sir, your ointment for your eyes. That, and thousands more, I hope, to see you lord of. And that, when I am lost in blended dust, And hundred such, as I am, in succession— You shall live, Still, to delude these harpyies. Sir, signior VOLTORE is come, this morning, To visit you. And hath brought A piece of antique plate, bought of S. MARK, With which he here presents you. Yes. He thanks you, and desires you see him often. My patron? The plate is here, sir. That he is not weaker. Do you observe that, sir? You are a happy man, sir, know your good. Alas, kind gentleman, well, we must all go— Age will conquer. Are you? I do beseech you, sir, you will vouchsafe To write me, in your family. All my Hope's, Depend upon your worship. I am lost, Except the rising sun do shine on me. Sir. I am a man, that have not done your love All the worst offices: here I wear your keys, See all your coffers, and your caskets locked, Keep the poor inventory of your jewels, Your plate, and moneys, am your steward, sir, Husband your goods here. Without a partner, sir, confirmed this morning; The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry Upon the parchment. Your desert, sir; I know no second cause. He ever liked your course, sir, that first took him. I, oft, have herd him say, how he admired Men of your large profession, that could speak To every cause, and things mere contraries, Till they were hoarse again, yet all be law; That, with most quick agility, could turn, And return; make knots, and undo them; Give forked counsel; take provoking gold On either hand, and put it up: these men, He knew, would thrive, with their humility. And (for his partly) he thought, he should be blessed To have his heir of such a suffering spirit, So wise, so graven, of so perplexed a tongue, And loud withal, that would not wag, nor scarce Lie still, without a fee; when every word Your worship but lets fallen, is a cecchine ! Who's that? one knocks, I would not have you seen, sir. And yet—pretend you came, and went in haste; I'll fashion and 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 have not been your worst of clients. When will you have your inventory brought, sir? Or see a copy of the will? (anon) I'll bring them to you, sir. Away, be gone, Put business in your face. Keep you still, sir. Here is CORBACCIO. Troth, as he did, sir, no amends. No, sir: he is rather worse. Upon his couch, sir, newly fallen asleep. No wink, sir, all this night, Nor yesterday, but slumbers. He will not hear of drugs. Sir, He ha no faith in physic. He ha no faith in physic: he do's think, Most of your Doctors are the greater danger, And worse disease, to escape. I often have Herd him protest, that your physician Should never be his heir. Not your physician, sir. No, sir, nor their fees He cannot brook: he says, they flay a man, Before they kill him. And then, they do it by experiment; For which the law not only does absolve them, But gives them great reward: and, he is loath To hire his death, so. Nay, more; For he but kills, sir, where the law condemns, And these can kill him, too. Most violent. His speech is broken, and his eyes are set, His face drawn longer, then it was wont— No, sir: his face Drawn longer, then it was wont. His mouth Is ever gaping, and his eyelids hang. A freezing numbness stiffens all his joints, And makes the colour of his flesh Like led. His pulse beats slow, and dull. And, from his brain— Yes, sir, and from his brain— Flows a cold sweat, with a continual rhewme, Forth the resolved corners of his eyes. Oh, sir, it's passed, the scotomy ; he, now, Hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort: You hardly can perceive him, that he breathes. I was a coming for you, sir. No, sir. He has not made his will, sir. He smelled a carcase, sir, when he but herd My master was about his testament; (As I did urge him to it, for your good—) Yes, and presented him this piece of plate. I do not know, sir. By your own scale, sir. Yea, marry, sir! This is true physic, this your sacred medicine, No talk of opiates , to this great elixir. It shall be ministered to him, in his bowl? Most blessed cordial! This will recover him. I think, it were not best, sir. To re cover him. Why, sir, this Will work some strange effect, if he but feel it. At no hand, pardon me; You shall not do your self that wrong, sir. I Will so advise you, you shall have it all. All, sir, it's your right, your own; no man Can claim a partly: it's yours, without a rival, Decreed by destiny. I'll tell you, sir. This fit he shall recover— And, on first advantage Of his gained sense, will I re-importune him Unto the making of his testament: And show him this. It's better yet, If you will hear, sir. Now, would I counsel you, make home with speed; There, frame a will: whereto you shall inscribe My master your sole heir. Oh, sir, the better: for that colour Shall make it much more taking. This will, sir, you shall send it unto me. Now, when I come to enforce (as I will do) Your cares, your watchings, and your many prayers, Your more then many gifts, your this days present, And, last, produce your will; where (without thought, Or least regard, unto your proper issue, A son so brave, and highly meriting) The stream of your diverted love hath thrown you Upon my master, and made him your heir: He cannot be so stupid, or stone dead, But, out of conscience, and mere gratitude— It's true. I do believe it. Yes, sir. Which when he hath done, sir— And you so certain, to survive him— Being so lusty a man— Yes, sir— You have not only done your self a good— It's right, sir. Alas sir, heaven knows, It hath been all my study, all my care, (I'eene grow gray withal) how to work things— You are he, For whom I labour, here. Rook go with you, raven. You do lie, sir— Your knowledge is no better then your ears, sir. Nor I, to gull my brother of his blessing. Your worship is a precious ass— I do desire your worship, to make haste, sir. Contain Your flux of laughter, sir: you know, this hope Is such a bait, it covers any hook. Alas, sir, I but do, as I am taught; Follow your graven instructions; give them words; Pour oil into their ears: and send them hence. I, with our help, sir. Close, to your couch again: I hear his voice. It is CORVINO, our spruce Merchant. Another bout, sir, with your eyes. Who's there? SIgnior CORVINO! come most wished for! Oh, How happy were you, if you knew it, now! The tardy hour is come, sir. Not dead, sir, but as good; He knows no man. Why, sir? 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? Hark. 'He calls you, step and give it him. H'is here, sir, And he has brought you a rich pearl. Sir, He cannot understand, his hearing's gone; And yet it comforts him, to see you— Best shew't, sir, Put it into his hand; it's only there He apprehends: he has his feeling, yet. See, how he grasps it! Tut, forget, sir. The weeping of and heir should still be laughter, Under a visor. 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 them, they were so many, All gaping here for legacies; but I, Taking the vantage of his naming you, (Signior CORVINO, Signior CORVINO) took Paper, and pen, and ink, and there I asked him, Whom he would have his heir? CORVINO. Who Should be executor? CORVINO. And, To any question, he was silent too, I still interpreted the nods, he made (Through weakness) for consent: and sent home th'others, Nothing bequeathed them, but to cry, and curse. No more then a blind harper. He knows no man, No face of friend, nor name of any servant, Who't was that fed him last, or gave him drink: Not those, he hath begotten, or brought up Can he remember. Bastards, Some dozen, or more, that he begotten on beggars, Gipsies , and Jews , and black- moors , when he was drunk. Knew you not that, sir? It's 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 them nothing. Sure, sir? why, look you, credit your own sense. The pox approach, and add to your diseases, If it would send you hence the sooner, sir. For, your incontinence, it hath deserved it Thoroughly, and thoroughly, and the plague to boot. (You may come near, sir) would you would once close Those filthy eyes of yours, that slow with slime, Like two frog-pits; and those same hanging cheeks, Covered with hide, in stead of skin: (nay, help, sir) That look Like frozen dishclouts, set on end. Excellent, sir, speak out; You may be louder yet: a culvering, Discharged in his ear, would hardly boar it. It's good! and, what his mouth? Oh, stop it up— pray you let me. Faith, I could stifle him, rarely, with a pillow, As well, as any woman, that should keep him. Be so; It is your presence makes him last so long. No, sir? why? Why should you be thus scrupulous? pray you, sir. Well, good sir, be gone. Puh, nor your diamant. What a needless care Is this afflicts you? Is not all, here, yours? Am not I here? whom you have made? your creature? That owe my being to you? Excepting one. Your gallant wife, sir. Now, is he gone: we had no other means, To shoot him hence, but this. The beauteous lady WOULD-BEE, sir. Wife, to the English Knight, Sir POLITIQVE WOULD-BEE, (This is the style, sir, is directed me) Hath sent to know, how you have slept to night, And if you would be visited. I told the Squire, so much. 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 signior CORVINO'S wives face— Oh, sir, the wonder, The blazing star of Italy ! a wench OF 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 melts, in the touch, to blood! Bright as your gold! and lovely, as your gold! Alas, sir. My self, but yesterday, discovered it. Oh, not possible; She's kept as warily, as is your gold: Never do's come abroad, never takes air, But at a windore. All her looks are sweet, As the first grapes, or cherries: and are watched As near, as they are. Sir. There is a guard, of ten spies thick, upon her; All his whole household: each of which is set Upon his fellow, and have all their charge, When he goes out, when he comes in, examined. In some disguise, then. SCOTO of Mantua , sir. Where, sir? Alas, good sir! Would you had never seen her. Sir, it's 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. Sir, more then deer, I will not bid you to despair of ought, Within a humane compass. Use but your patience. I doubt not To bring success to your desires. If you can horn him, sir, you needs not. No jot. So well, would I could follow you in mine, With half the happiness; and, yet, I would Escape your epilogue. Sir, SCOTO himself could hardly have distinguished! I have not time to flatter you, now, wee'll partly: And, as I prosper, so applaud my art. DEath of mine honour, with the cities fool? A juggling, toothdrawing, prating mountebanke? And, at a public windore? where whilst he, With his strained Actium, and his dole of faces, To his drug-lecture draws your itching ears, A crew of old, unmarried, noted lechers, Stood leering up, Like Satires : and you smile, Most graciously! and fan your favours forth, To give your hight spectators satisfaction! What, was your mountebanke their call? their whistle? Or were you' enamoured on his copper rings? His saffron jewel, with the toadstone in't? Or his embroidered suit, with the cope-stitch, Made of a hearse-cloth? or his old tilt-feather? Or his starched beard? well! you shall have him, yes. He shall come home, and minister unto you The fricace, for the mother. Or, let me see, I think, you' had rather mount? would you not mount? Why, if you'll mount, you may; yes truly, you may: And so, you may be seen, down to foot. Get you a cittern, lady vanity , And be a dealer, with the virtuous man; Make one: I'll but protest my self a cuckold, And save your dowry. I am a Dutchman, I! For, if you thought me and Italian , You would be damned, ere you did this, you whore: Thou'dst tremble, to imagine, that the murder Of father, mother, brother, all thy raze, Should follow, as the subject of my justice! I fear you cannot, sir. Rather the contrary. Yes, sir, Why, sir, with SCOTO'S oil! CORBACCIO, and VOLTORE brought of it, Whilst I was busy in and inner room— I know not, sir, But some on't, there they poured into his ears, Some in his nostrils, and recovered him; Applying but the fricace. And since, to seem the more officious, And flattering of his health, there, they have had (At extreme fees) the college of physicians Consulting on him, how they might restore him; Where, one would have a cataplasm of spices, Another, a flayed ape clapped to his breast, A third would ha'it a dog, a fourth and oil With wild cats skins: at last, they all resolved That, to preserve him, was no other means, But some young woman must be straight sought out, Lusty, and full of juice, to sleep by him; And, to this service (most unhappily, And most unwillingly) am I now employed, Which, here, I thought to pre-acquaint you with, For your advice, since it concerns you most, Because, I would not do that thing might cross Your ends, on whom I have my whole dependence, sir: Yet, if I do it not, they may delate My slackness to my patron, work me out Of his opinion; and there, all your Hope's, Venters, or whatsoever, are all frustrate. I do but tell you, sir. Beside, they are all Now striving, who shall first present him. Therefore— I could entreat you, briefly, conclude somewhat: Prevent them if you can. 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. No, no: it must be one, that ha no tricks, sir, Some simple thing, a creature, made unto it; Some wench you may command. have you no kinswoman? Gods so—Think, think, think, think, think, think, think, sir. One o'the Doctors offered, there, his daughter. Yes, signior LUPO, the physician, 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 partly. Beside, sir, who shall know it? some one, or two— I hear him coming. How, sir? Sir. The thing, (But that I would not seem to counsel you) I should have motioned to you, at the first: And, make your count, you have cut all their throats. Why! it's directly taking a possession! And, in his next fit, we may let him go. It's but to pull the pillow, from his head, And he is thratled: it had been done, before, But for your scrupulous doubts. Sir, I warrant you, I'll so possess him with it, that the rest Of his starved clients shall be banished, all; And only you received. But come not, sir, Until I send, for I have something else To ripen, for your good (you must not know't) Fear not. WHere are you, wife? my CELIA? wife? what, blubbering? Come, dry those tears. I think, thou thoughtest me in earnest? Would? by this light, I talked so but to try thee. Me thinks, the lightness of the occasion Should have confirmed thee. Come, I am not jealous. Why, sir? Courteous sir, Scorn not my poverty. Baseness? 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 how ere Your sentence may be righteous, yet you are not, That ere you know me, thus, proceed in censure: S to . MARK bear witness against you, it's inhumane. It's true, that, swayed by strong necessity, I am enforced to eat my careful bred With too much obsequy; it's true, beside, That I am feign to spin mine own poor raiment, Out of my mere observance, being not born To a free fortune: but that I have done Base offices, in rending friends asunder, Dividing families, betraying counsels, Whispering false lies, or mining men with praises, Trained their credulity with perjuries, Corrupted chastity, or am in love With mine own tender ease, but would not rather Prove the most rugged, and laborious course, That might redeem my present estimation; Let me here perish, in all hope of goodness. 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— And thrust you forth, As a mere stranger to his blood; it's true, sir: The work no way engageth me, but, as I claim and interest in the general state Of goodness, and true virtue, which I hear Abound in you: and, for which mere respect, Without a second aim, sir, I have done it. It is a confidence, that well becomes Your piety; and formed (no doubt) it is, From your own simple innocence: which makes Your wrong more monstrous, and abhorred. But, sir, I now, will tell you more. This very minute, It is, or will be doing: And, if you Shall be but pleased to go with me, I'll bring you, (I dare not say where you shall see, but) where Your ear shall be a witness of the deed; Hear your self written bastard: and professed The common issue of the earth. Sir, if I do it not, draw your joust 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— Why, sir? Has she presented? Madam— It's well, I had forgotten to tell you, I saw your Knight, Where you'd little think it— Marry, Where yet, if you make haste, you may apprehend him, Rowing upon the water in a gondole , With the most cunning courtesan, of Venice. Pursue them, and believe your eyes: Leave me, to make your gift. I knew, it would take. For lightly, they that use themselves most licence, Are still most jealous. Towards the rialto. I pray you, take him. Your Hope's, sir, are Like happy blossoms, fair, And promise timely fruit, if you will stay But the maturing; keep you, at your couch, CORBACCIO will arrive straight, with the will: When he is gone, isle tell you more. Prevent? did ere man haste so, sor his horns? A courtier would not ply it so, for a place. Well, now there's no helping it, stay here; I'll presently return. Sir, your father hath sent word, It will be half and hour, ere he come; And therefore, if you please to walk, the while, Into that gallery—at the upper end, There are some books, to entertain the time: And isle take care, no man shall come unto you, sir. There, he is far enough; he can hear nothing: And, for his father, I can keep him off. Please you draw near, sir. Sir, signior CORVINO, here, is come to see you. And hearing of the consultation had, So lately, for your health, is come to offer, Or rather, sir, to prostitute— Freely, unasked, or vn-intreated— (As the true, fervent instance of his love) His own most fair and proper wife; the beauty, Only of price, in Venice — To be your comfortress, and to preserve you. Do you hear, sir? Go to him, with your wife. Nay, gentle lady, be advised. Nay, good, sir. Nay, pray you, sir, She will consider. I, now you' have put your fortune, in her hands. Why faith, it is her modesty, I must quit her; If you were absent, she would be more coming; I know it: and dare undertake for her. What woman can, before her husband? pray you, Let us depart, and leave her, here. Oh, that his well-driven sword Had been so courteous to have cleft me down, Unto the navel; ere I lived to see My life, my Hope's, my spirits, my patron, all Thus desperately engaged, by my error. And my follies, sir. And my self, sir. Who would have thought, he would have harkened, so? I know not, if my heart Could expiate the mischance, Ill pluck it out. Will you be pleased to hang me? or cut my throat? And i'll requite you, sir. Let's die Like Romans , Since we have lived, Like Grecians. To your couch, sir, you Make that place good, how ever. Guilty men Suspect, what they deserve still. Signior CORBACCIO! WHy! how now? MOSCA! Oh, undone, amazed, sir. Your son (I know not, by what accident) Acquainted with your purpose to my patron, Touching your will, and making him your heir; Entered our house with violence, his sword drawn, Sought for you, called you wretch, unnatural, Vowed he would kill you. Yes, and my patron. It's well, sir. My life, sir, Is not more tendered, I am only yours. I fear. He'll outlast May. No, last-out May , sir. Oh, by no means, sir. How, signior VOLTORE! did he hear me? Who's that? Oh, sir, most timely welcome— Who? I, sir! A plot for you, sir. Did you not hear it? It's true, By my device, drawn to it by my plot, With hope— For your good, I did, sir. Nay more, I told his son, brought, hid him here, Where he might hear his father pass the deed; Being persuaded to it, by this thought, sir, That the unnaturalness, first, of the act, And then, his father's oft disclaiming in him, (Which I did mean help on) would sure enrage him To do some violence upon his parent. On which the law should take sufficient hold, And you be stated in a double hope: Truth be my comfort, and my conscience, My only aim was, to dig you a fortune Out of these two, old rotten sepulchers— Worth your patience, And your great merit, sir. And, see the change! Most hapless! you must help, sir. While we expected th'old raven, in comes CORVINO'S wife, sent hither, by her husband— No, sir, on visitation: (I'll tell you how, anon) and, staying long, The youth, he grows impatient, rushes forth, Seizes the lady, wound's me, makes her swear (Or he would murder her, that was his vow) T'affirme my patron to have done her rape: Which how unlike it is, you see! and, hence, With that pretext, he's gone, t'accuse his father; Defame my patron; defeat you— Sir, I'll go fetch him. Sir, I will. Oh, you do nobly, sir. Alas, 'twas laboured all, sir, for your good; Nor, was there want of counsel, in the plot: But fortune can, at any time, overthrow The projects of a hundred learned clerks , sir. Patron, go in, and pray for our success. What is the injury, lady? Who? this? what means your ladyship? the creature I mentioned to you, is apprehended, now, Before the Senate , you shall see her— I'll bring you to her. This young gentleman I saw him land, this morning, at the port. Will you go, madame? Is the lie Safely convey amongst us? is that sure? Knows every man his burden? Then, shrink not. Oh, sir, By no means. I devised a formal tale, That salved your reputation. But, be valiant, sir. Co-halter. Hang him: we will but use his tongue, his noise, As we do croakers, here. When we have done, you mean? Why, we'll think, Fell him for mummia. he's half dust already. Do not you smile, to see this buffalo , How he does sport it with his head? — In should If all were well, and passed. Sir, only you Are he, that shall enjoy the crop of all, And these not know for whom they toil. But you shall eat it. Much! Worshipful sir, MERCURY fit upon your thundering tongue, Or the French HERCULES, and make your language As conquering as his club, to beat along, (As with a tempest) flat, our adversaries: But, much more, yours, sir. I have another witness, if you need, sir, I can produce. Sir, I have her. The Like of this the Senate never herd of. Please your fatherhoods, Here is his Advocate. Himself's, so weak, So feeble— Excellent! sir. None. My wound Rare! (May't please your wisdoms) speaks for me, received In aid of my good patron, when he missed His sought-for father, when that well-taught dame Had her eve given her, to cry out a rape. Here is the lady her self, that saw them too, Without; who, then, had in the open streets Pursued them, but for saving her knights honour. Rare. I'd have your tongue, sir, tipped with gold, for this; I'd have you be the heir to the whole city; The earth I'd have want men, ere you want living: They'are bound to erect your statue, in St. MARKS. Signior CORVINO, I would have you go, And show your self, that you have conquered. It was much better, that you should profess Your self a cuckold, thus, then that the other Should have been proved. Then, it had been yours. Faith, You needs not, I dare ease you of that care. As your own soul, sir. Now for your business, sir. Yes, yours, sir. None else, not I. Rest you, with both your eyes, sir. Instantly. Cortine-rings, sir, Only, the Advocates see must be deducted. Sir, I must tender it. No, six, sir. He talked a great while, You must consider that, sir. I'll give it him. Bountiful bones! What horrid strange offence Did he commit against nature, in his youth, Worthy this age? you see, sir, how I work Unto your ends; take you no notice. All, is yours; the devil, and all: Good Advocate. Madame, I'll bring you home. That you shall not: I'll tell you, why. My purpose is, to urge My patron to reform his will; and, for The zeal you' have shown 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 were present. Therefore— Was it not carried learnedly? It were a folly, beyond thought, to trust Any grand act unto a cowardly spirit: You are not taken with it, enough, me thinks? Why, now you speak, sir. We must, here be ixt; Here, we must rest; this is our masterpiece: We cannot think, to go beyond this. Nay, sir, To gull the court— Yes, and to make So rare a music out of discords— True, they will not see't. Too much light blinds them, I think. Each of'hem Is so possessed, and stuffed with his own Hope's, That any thing, unto the contrary, Never so true, or never so apparent, Never so palpable, they will resist it— Right, sir. Merchant's may talk of trade, and your great signiors Of land, that yields well; but if Italy Have any glebe, more fruitful, then these fellows, I am deceived. Did not your Advocate rare? IT seemed to me, you sweat, sir. But confess, sir, Were you not daunted? I think it, sir Now (so truth help me) I must needs say this, sir. And, out of conscience, for your advocate: He' has taken pains, in faith, sir, and deserved, (In my poor judgement, I speak it, under favour, Not to contrary you, sir) very richly— Well—to be cozened. Oh, but before, sir; had you herd him, first, Draw it to certain heads, then aggravate, Then use his vehement figures—I looked still, When he would shift a shirt; and, doing this Out of pure love, no hope of gain— Good, sir. CASTRONE, NANO. What you please, sir. What do you mean, sir? And then to have it ravished from their mouths? It will be rare, sir. Yes. But, what, sir, if they ask After the body? Your Advocate will turn stark dull, upon it. But your Clarissimo , old round-back, he Will crumpe you, Like a hog-louse, with the touch. Oh, 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— And sweat, sir. Why, your gold Is such another medicine, it dries up All those offensive savours! It transforms The most deformed, and restores them lovely, As 'twere the strange poetical girdle. Cesti . JOVE Could not invent, to himself, a shroud more subtle, To pass ACRISIUS guards. It is the thing Makes all the world her grace, her youth, her beauty. Who? the lady, sir? She's jealous of you. Hark, There's some already. It is the vulture: He has the quickest sent. I am set. Turkey carpets, nine— Two suits of bedding, tissue— Of cloth of gold, two more— Of several vellets, eight— Eight chests of linen— Six chests of diaper, four of damask—There. Down-beds, and bolsters— Ten suits of hangings— Two cabenets— One Of ebony.— The other, mother of pearl—I am very busy. Good faith, it is a fortune thrown upon me — Item , one salt of agat — not my seeking. A perfumed box—pray you forbear, You see I am troubled—made of and onyx — Tomorrow, or next day, I shall be at leisure, To talk with you all. Madame! Marry, and shall: pray you, fairly quit my house. Nay, raise no tempest with your looks; but, hark you: Remember, what your ladyship offered me, To put you in, and heir; go to, think on't. And what you said, eene your best madames did For maintenance, and, why not you? enough. Go home, and use the poor sir POL, your knight, well; For fear I tell some riddles: go, be melancholic. Lord! will not you take your dispatch hence, yet? Me thinks (of all) you should have been example. Why should you stay, here? with what thought? what promise? Hear you, do not you know, I know you and ass? And, that you would, most feign, have been a wittol, If fortune would have let you? that you are A declared cuckold, on good terms? this pearl, You'll say, was yours? right: this diamant? I'll not deny't, but thank you. Much here, else? It may be so. Why, think that these good works May help to hide you bade: I'll not betray you, Although you be but extraordinary, And have it only in title, it suffices. Go home, be melancholic too, or mad. Yes, sir. Stop your mouth, Or I shall draw the only tooth, is left. Are not you he, that filthy covetous wretch, With h the three legs, that here, in hope of prey, Have, any time this three year, snuft about, With your most groveling nose; and would have hired Me to the poisoning of my patron? sir? Are not you he, that have, to day, in court, Professed the disinheriting of your son? Perjured your self? Go home, and die, and stink; If you but croak a sillable, all comes out: Away and call your porters, go, go, stink. Sir? A table Of porphyry—I mar'le, you'll be thus troublesome. Why? who are you? What? who did send for you? O'cry you mercy, Reverend sir! good faith, I am grieved for you, That any chance of mine should thus defeat Your (I must needs say) most deserving travels: But, I protest, sir it was cast upon me, And I could, almost, wish to be without it, But, that the will of the dead, must be observed. Marry, my joy is, that you needs it not, You have a gift, sir, (thank your education) Will never let you want, while there are men, And malice, to breed causes. Would I had But half the Like, for all my fortune, sir. If I have any suits (as I do hope, Things being so easy, and direct, I shall not) I will make bold with your obstreperous aid, (Conceive me) for your fee, sir. In mean time, You, that have so much law, I know have the conscience, Not to be covetous of what is mine. Good sir, I thank you for my plate: it'll help To set up a young man. Good faith, you look As you were Cos iue; best go home, and purge, sir. I doubt it will lose them. Sir, I can fit you. Yes, I know One of the Commandatori , sir, so Like you, Him will I straight make drunk, and bring you his habit. Sir, you must look for curses— Oh, sir, you are he: No man can sever you. But, what am I? If I hold My made one, it'll be well. Do so. My FOX Is out on his hold, and, ere he shall re-enter, I'll make him languish, in his borrowed case, Except he come to composition, with me: ANDROGINO, CASTRONE, NANO. Go, recreate your selves, abroad; go, sport: So, now I have the keys, and am possessed. Since he will, needs, be dead, afore his time, I'll bury him, or gain by him. I'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. THey say, the court is set. Good Advocate, pray thee, not rail, nor threaten out of place, thus; Thou'lt make a solecism (as madame says.) Get you a biggen, more: your brain breaks lose. What busy knave is this! most reverend father's, I sooner, had attended your graven pleasures, But that my order, for the funeral Of my deer patron did require me— Whom I intend to bury, Like a gentleman. (Will you gi'me half? I know, Your voice is good, cry not so lowd') Whose drunkard is this same? speak some, that know him: I never saw his face. (I cannot now Afford it you so cheap. Most graven father's, If such and insolence, as this, must pass Upon me, I am silent: 'twas not this, For which you sent, I hope. I humbly thank your fatherhoods. Ban to thy wolvish nature. I'll say, it stunk, sir; and was feign to have it Coffined up instantly, and sent away. You are his heir, sir. Patron.) Why, patron!)