Volpone Or the Fox Part 11

PER: What should this mean, sir Pol?

SIR P: Some trick of state, believe it. I will home.

PER: It may be some design on you:

SIR P: I know not.

I'll stand upon my guard.

PER: It is your best, sir.

SIR P: This three weeks, all my advices, all my letters, They have been intercepted.

PER: Indeed, sir!

Best have a care.

SIR P: Nay, so I will.

PER: This knight, I may not lose him, for my mirth, till night.

[EXEUNT.]

SCENE 2.2.

A ROOM IN VOLPONE'S HOUSE.

ENTER VOLPONE AND MOSCA.

VOLP: O, I am wounded!

MOS: Where, sir?

VOLP: Not without; Those blows were nothing: I could bear them ever.

But angry Cupid, bolting from her eyes, Hath shot himself into me like a flame; Where, now, he flings about his burning heat, As in a furnace an ambitious fire, Whose vent is stopt. The fight is all within me.

I cannot live, except thou help me, Mosca; My liver melts, and I, without the hope Of some soft air, from her refreshing breath, Am but a heap of cinders.

MOS: 'Las, good sir, Would you had never seen her!

VOLP: Nay, would thou Had'st never told me of her!

MOS: Sir 'tis true; I do confess I was unfortunate, And you unhappy: but I'm bound in conscience, No less than duty, to effect my best To your release of torment, and I will, sir.

VOLP: Dear Mosca, shall I hope?

MOS: Sir, more than dear, I will not bid you to dispair of aught Within a human compa.s.s.

VOLP: O, there spoke My better angel. Mosca, take my keys, Gold, plate, and jewels, all's at thy devotion; Employ them how thou wilt; nay, coin me too: So thou, in this, but crown my longings, Mosca.

MOS: Use but your patience.

VOLP: So I have.

MOS: I doubt not To bring success to your desires.

VOLP: Nay, then, I not repent me of my late disguise.

MOS: If you can horn him, sir, you need not.

VOLP: True: Besides, I never meant him for my heir.- Is not the colour 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!

[ASIDE.]

-and yet I would Escape your Epilogue.

VOLP: But were they gull'd With a belief that I was Scoto?

MOS: Sir, Scoto himself could hardly have distinguish'd!

I have not time to flatter you now; we'll part; And as I prosper, so applaud my art.

[EXEUNT.]

SCENE 2.3.

A ROOM IN CORVINO'S HOUSE.

ENTER CORVINO, WITH HIS SWORD IN HIS HAND, DRAGGING IN CELIA.

CORV: Death of mine honour, with the city's fool!

A juggling, tooth-drawing, prating mountebank!

And at a public window! where, whilst he, With his strain'd action, and his dole of faces, To his drug-lecture draws your itching ears, A crew of old, unmarried, noted letchers, Stood leering up like satyrs; and you smile Most graciously, and fan your favours forth, To give your hot spectators satisfaction!

What; was your mountebank their call? their whistle?

Or were you enamour'd on his copper rings, His saffron jewel, with the toad-stone in't, Or his embroider'd suit, with the cope-st.i.tch, Made of a herse-cloth? or his old tilt-feather?

Or his starch'd 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'd 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 the foot.

Get you a cittern, lady Vanity, And be a dealer with the virtuous man; Make one: I'll but protest myself a cuckold, And save your dowry. I'm a Dutchman, I!

For, if you thought me an Italian, You would be d.a.m.n'd, ere you did this, you wh.o.r.e!

Thou'dst tremble, to imagine, that the murder Of father, mother, brother, all thy race, Should follow, as the subject of my justice.

CEL: Good sir, have pacience.

CORV: What couldst thou propose Less to thyself, than in this heat of wrath And stung with my dishonour, I should strike This steel into thee, with as many stabs, As thou wert gaz'd upon with goatish eyes?

CEL: Alas, sir, be appeas'd! I could not think My being at the window should more now Move your impatience, than at other times.

CORV: No! not to seek and entertain a parley With a known knave, before a mult.i.tude!

You were an actor with your handkerchief; 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 sister's, Your mother's, or your aunt's might serve the turn.