SONG.

Fools, they are the only Nation
Worth Mens Envy or Admiration ;
Free from Care, or Sorrow-taking,
Selves and others merry making :
All they speak or do is Sterling.
Your Fool he is your great Man's Darling,
And your Ladies Sport and Pleasure;
Tongue and Bable are his Treafure.
E'n bis Face begetteth Laughter,
And he speaks Truth free from Slaughter;
He's the Grace of every Feaft;
And fometimes the chiefeft Gueft;
Hath his Trencher and his Stool,
When Wit waits upon the Fool.
Oh, who would not be
He, he, he?

One knocks without.

Vol. Who's that? Away, look, Mofca.

Mof. Fool, be gone, 'tis Signior Voltore the Advocate, I know him by his Knock. Vol. Fetch me my Gown, My Furs, and Night-caps; fay, my Couch's changing: And let him entertain himself a while

Without i' th' Gallery. Now, now, my Clients
Begin their Vifitation! Vulture, Kite,

Raven, Gorcrow, all my Birds of Prey,
That think me turning Carcafs, now they come:
I am not for 'em yet. How now? the News?
Mof. A Piece of Plate, Sir.

Vol. Of what Bignefs? Mof. Huge,

Maffie, and Antique, with your Name infcrib'd,
And Arms engraven. Vol. Good! and not a Fox
Stretch'd on the Earth, with fine delufive Sleights,
Mocking a gaping Crow? ha? Mofca. Mof. Sharp, Sir.
Vol. Give me my Furs. Why doft thou laugh fo, Man?
Mof. I cannot choofe, Sir, when I apprehend
What Thoughts he has (without) now, as he walks:

That

That this might be the laft Gift he should give;
That this would fetch you; if you died to day,
And gave him all, what he should be to morow ;
What large Return would come of all his Venters;
How he should worshipp'd be, and reverenc'd;
Ride with his Furs, and Foot-clothes; waited on
By Herds of Fools, and Clients; have clear way
Made for his Moile, as letter'd as himself;
Be call'd the great and learned Advocate :
And then concludes, there's nought impoffible.
Vol. Yes, to be learned, Mofca. Mof. O, no: rich
Implies it. Hood an Afs with reverend Purple,
So you can hide his too ambitious Ears,

And he shall pass for a Cathedral Doctor.

Volp. My Caps, my Caps, good Mofca; fetch him in.
Mof. Stay, Sir, your Ointment for your Eyes.
Vol. That's true;

Dispatch, dispatch; I long to have Poffeffion

Of my new Prefent. Mof. That, and Thousands more,
I hope to fee you Lord of. Vol. Thanks, kind Mofca.
Mof. And that, when I am loft in blended Duft.
And hundred fuch as I am, in Succeffion-

Vol. Nay, that were too much. Mofca.
Mof. You fhall live,

Still, to delude thefe Harpies. Vol. Loving Mosca,
'Tis well, my Pillow now, and let him enter.

Now, my fain'd Cough, my Phthifick, and my Gout, My Apoplexy, Palfie, and Catarhs,

Help with your forced Functions, this my Pofture, Wherein, this three Year, I have milk'd their Hopes. He comes, I fear him (uh, uh, uh, uh) O.

SCENE III.

Mofca, Voltore, Volpone.

Mof. You ftill are, what you were, Sir. Only you (Of all the reft) are he, commands his Love: And you do wifely, to preferve it thus, With early Vifitation, and kind Notes Of your good meaning to him, which, I know,

Cannot

Cannot but come moft grateful. Patron, Sir,

Here's Signior Voltore is come-Vol. What fay you ?
Mof. Sir, Signior Voltore is come, this Morning
To vifit you.

brought

Vol. I thank him. Mof. And hath

A piece of antique Plate, bought of St. Mark,

With which he here prefents you. Vol. He is wel

come.

Pray him to come more often.
Volt. What says he?

Mof. Yes.

you

Mof. He thanks you, and defires
Volp. Mofca. Mof. My Patron?
Volp. Bring him near, where is he?

fee him often:

I long to feel his Hand. Mof. The Plate is here, Sir.
Volt. How fare you, Sir?

Volp. I thank you, Signior Voltore,

Where is the Plate? mine Eyes are bad. Volt. I'm forry,

To fee you ftill thus weak. Mof. That he is not weaker, Volp. You are too munificent.

Volt. No, Sir, would to Heaven,

I could as well give Health to you, as that Plate.
Volp. You give, Sir, what you can.

Your Love

I thank you.

Hath taste in this, and fhall not be un-anfwer'd.
I pray you fee me often. Volt. Yes, I fhall, Sir.
Volp. Be not far from me.

Mof. Do you obferve that, Sir?

Volp. Hearken unto me ftill: It will concern you.
Mof. You are a happy Man, Sir, know your good.
Volp. I cannot now last long-

(Mof. You are his Heir, Sir.

Volt. Am I?) Volp. I feel me going, (uh, uh, uh, uh.' I am failing to my Port, (uh, uh, uh, uh ?)

And I am glad, I am fo near my Haven.

Moj. Alas, kind Gentlemen, well, we must all go-
Volt. But Mofca.- -Mof. Age will conquer.
Volt. 'Pray thee, hear me.

Am I infcrib'd his Heir for certain? Mof. Are you?
I do befeech you, Sir, you will vouchsafe

Το

To write me i' your Family. All my Hopes, - Depend upon your Worship. I am loft, Except the rifing Sun do fhine on me.

Volt. It fhall both shine, and warm thee, Mofca.
Mof. Sir.

I am a Man, that hath not done your

Love
All the worst Offices: here I wear your Keys,
See all your Coffers, and your Caskets lockt,
Keep the poor Inventory of your Jewels,

Your Plate and Monies; I'm your Steward, Sir,
Husband your Goods here. Volt. But am I fole Heir?
Mof. Without a Partner, Sir, confirm'd this Morning;
The Wax is warm yet, and the Ink scarce dry
Upon the Parchment. Volt. Happy, happy, me!
By what good chance, fweet Mofca?

Mof. Your defert, Sir;

I know no fecond Caufe. Volt. Thy Modesty
Is loth to know it; well, we fhall requite it.

Mof. He ever lik'd your Course, Sir; that first took him
I oft have heard him fay, how he admir'd,
Men of your large Profeffion, that could speak
To every Caufe, and things mere Contraries,
Till they were hoarse again, yet all be Law;
That with moft quick Agility, could turn,
And re-turn; 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 part) he thought, he should be bleft
To have his Heir of fuch a fuffering Spirit
So wife, fo grave, of fo perplex'd a Tongue,
And loud withal, that could not wag, nor scarce
Lie ftill, without a Fee; when every Word
Your Worship but lets fall, is a Cecchine !

[Another knocks. Who's that? one knocks, I would not have you feen, Sir. And yet— pretend you came, and went in hafte ; I'll fashion an Excufe. And, gentle Sir, When you do come to Swim; in golden Lard, Up to the Arms in Honey, that your Chin

Is

Is born up ftiff, with fatnefs of the Flood,
Think on your Vaffal; but remember me :
I ha' not been your worst of Clients. Volt. Mojca
Mof. When will you have your Inventory brought, Sir?
Or fee a Copy of the Will? (anon)

I'll bring them to you, Sir. Away, be gone
Put Business i' your Face. Volp. Excellent Mofca!
Come hither, let me kifs thee. Mof. Keep you ftill, Sir.
Here is Corbaccio. Volp. Set the Plate away,
The Vulture's gone, and the old Raven's come:

Mof. Betake you to your Silence, and your Sleep: Stand there and multiply. Now, fhall we fee A Wretch who is (indeed) more impotent, Than this can fain to be; yet hopes to hop Over his Grave. Signior Corbaccio! Yo'ure very welcome, Sir.

Corb. How do's your Patron?

Mof. Troth, as he did, Sir; no amends.
Corb. What? Mends he?

Mof. No, Sir: He is rather worse.

Corb. That's well. Where is he?

Mof. Upon his Couch, Sir, newly fall'n to fleep.

Corb. Do's he fleep well?

Mof. No wink, Sir, all this Night,

Nor yesterday; but flumbers.

Corb. Good! He fhall take

Some Counsel of Phyficians: I have brought him
An Opiate here, from mine own Doctor-

Mof. He will not hear of Drugs:

Corb. Why? I my felf

Stood by, while 'twas made, faw all th' Ingredients:
And know, it cannot but moft gently work.

My Life for his, 'tis but to make him fleep.

Volp. I, his laft Sleep, if he wou'd take it. Mof. Sir, He has no Faith in Phyfick. Corb. 'Say you, 'fay you? Mof. He has no Faith in Phyfick: He do's think

Moft