Taking the vantage of his naming you, (Signior Corvino, Signior Corvino) took

Who

Paper, and Pen, and Ink, and there I ask'd him,
Whom he would have his Heir? Corvino.
Should be Executor? Corvino. And
To any Queftion he was filent too,

I ftill interpreted, the Nods he made

(Through Weaknefs) for confent; and fent home th others,

Nothing bequeath'd them, but to Cry, and Curfe.
Coru. O, my dear Mofca. Do's he not perceive us?
[They embrace.
Mof. No more than 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 thofe, he hath begotten, or brought up

Can he remember.

Mof. Baftards,

Corv. Has he Children?

Some dozen, or more, that he begot on Beggars,
Cypfies, and Jews, and Black-a-moors, when he was drunk,
Knew you not that, Sir? 'Tis the common Fable.
The Dwarf, the Fool, the Eunuch are all his ;
H' is the true Father of his Family,

In all, fave me: But he has given 'em nothing.

Corv. That's well, that's well. Art sure he does not hear us?

Mof. Sure, Sir? Why, look you, credit your own Sense.
The Pox approach, and add to your Diseases,
If it would fend you hence the fooner, Sir,
For your Incontinence, it hath deserv'd it

Throughly, and throughly, and the Plague to boot.
(You may come near, Sir) would you would once close
Thofe filthy Eyes of yours, that flow with Slime,
Like two Frog-pits; and thofe fame hanging Cheeks,
Cover'd with Hide, inftead of Skin: Nay, help, Sir,
That look like frozen Difh-clouts fet on end.

Corv. Or, like an old smok'd Wall, on which the Rain Ran down in Streaks. Mof. Excellent, Sir, fpeak out ; You may be louder yet: A Culvering,

Discharged in his Ear, would hardly bore it.

Cora.

Corv. His Nofe is like a common Sewer, ftill running. Mof. 'Tis good! And, what his Mouth?

Corv. A very Draught.

Mof. O, ftop it up

Mof. 'Pray you let me.

Coru. By no means.

Faith I could ftifle him rarely, with a Pillow,
As well as any Woman that should keep him.

Corv. Do as you will, but I'll be gone. Mof. Be fo, It is your Presence makes him laft fo long.

Corv. I pray you use no Violence. Mof. No, Sir? Why? Why should you be thus fcrupulous? 'Pray you, Sir. Corv. Nay, at your Difcretion. Mof. Well, good Sir, be gone.

Corv. I will not trouble him now, to take my Pearl. Mof. Puh, nor your Diamond. 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? Corv. Grateful Mofca! Thou art my Friend, my Fellow, my Companion, My Partner, and fhalt share in all my Fortunes.

Mof. Excepting one.

Corv. What'st hat ?

Mof. Your gallant Wife, Sir.

Now he is gone: We had no other means,
To shoot him hence, but this. Volp.
Thou haft to day out-gone thy felf.

My divine Mofca
Who's there?
[Another knocks.

I will be troubled with no more. Prepare
Me Mufick, Dances, Banquets, all Delights;
The Turk is not more fenfual in his Pleasures,
Than will Volpone. Let me fee, a Pearl?

A Diamond? Plate? Cecchines? Good Morning Purchase
Why, this is better than rob Churches, yet:

Or fat, by eating (once a Month) a Man.

Who is't. Mof. The beauteous Lady Would-be, Sir,
Wife to the English Knight. Sir Politick Would be
(This is the Stile, Sir, is directed me)

Hath fent to know, how you have flept to night,
And if you would be vifited. Volp. Not, now-
Some three hours hence-

Mof. I told the Squire fo much..

Volp.

Vol. When I am high with Mirth, and Wine: then, then:

'Fore Heaven, I wonder at the desperate Valour
Of the bold English, that they dare let loofe
Their Wives to all Encounters! Mof. Sír, this Knight
Had not his Name for nothing, he is politick,
And knows, how e're his Wife affect strange Airs,
She hath not yet the Face to be dishonest:
But had the Signior Corvino's Wife's Face-
Volp. Has the fo rare a Face? Mof. O, Sir, the Won
der,

The blazing Star of Italy! A Wench

O' the first Year! A Beauty ripe as Harvest!
Whofe Skin is whiter than a Swan all over!
Than Silver, Snow, or Lillies! A foft Lip,
Would tempt you to Eternity of kiffing!
And Flesh that melteth in the Touch to Blood!
Bright as your Gold, and lovely as your Gold!
Volp. Why had I not known this before?

Mof. Alafs, Sir- My felf but yesterday discover'd it. Vol. How might I fee her? Mof. O, not poffible; She's kept as warily as is your Gold,

Never does come abroad, never takes Air,
But at a Window. All her Looks are sweet,
As the firft Grapes or Cherries, and are watch'd
As near as they are. Volp. I muft fee her-
Mof. Sir,

There is a Guard of ten Spies thick upon her,
All his whole Houfhold; each of which is fet
Upon his Fellow, and have all their Charge!
When he goes out, when he comes in, examin'd.

Vol. I will go fee her, though but at her Window. Mof. In fome Disguife then. Volp. That is true: I mußt Maintain mine own Shape ftill the fame: We'll think.

ACT

Pol.

ACT II. SCENE I.

Politick Would-be, Peregrine.

IR, to a wife Man all the World's his Soil:
It is not Italy, nor France, nor Europe,
That must bound me, if my Fates call me forth.
Yet I proteft, it is no falt Defire

Of feeing Countries, fhifting a Religion,
Nor any Difaffection to the State

Where I was bred (and unto which I owe

My dearest Plots) hath brought me out; much lefs
That idle, antick, ftale, grey-headed Project

Of knowing Mens Minds and Manners, with Ulysses?
But a peculiar Humour of my Wife's,

Laid for this height of Venice, to observe,

To quote, to learn the Language, and fo forth

I hope you travel, Sir, with Licence-How long, Sir, Since you left England? Per. Seven Weeks. Pol. So lately!

You ha' not been with my Lord Ambassador?
Per. Not yet, Sir.

Pol. Pray you, what News, Sir, vents our Climate:
I heard laft Night a moft ftrange thing reported
By fome of my Lord's Followers, and I long

To hear how 'twill be feconded. Per. What was't, Sir?
Pol. Marry, Sir, of a Raven that should build
In a Ship Royal of the King's. Per This Fellow
Does he gull me, trow? Or is gull'd? Your Name, Sir?
Pol. My Name is Politick Would-be.

Per. O' that speaks him. A Knight, Sir?
Pol. A poor Knight, Sir. Per. Your Lady
Lies here in Venice, for Intelligence

Of Tires, and Fashions, and Behaviour,

Among the Courtezans? The Fine Lady Would-be.
Pol. Yes, Sir, the Spider and the Bee, oft-times,
Suck from one Flower. Per. Good Sir Politick,
B

I cry you Mercy: I have heard much of you:
'Tis true. Sir, of your Raven. Pol. On your Knowledge?
Per. Yes, and your Lions whelping in the Tower.
Pol. Another Whelp!

Per. Anorher, Sir. Pol. Now, Heaven!
What Prodigies be these? The Fires at Berwick!
And the new Star! These things concurring, ftrange!
And full of Omen! Saw you these Meteors ?
Per. I did, Sir.

Pol. Fearful! Pray you, Sir, confirm me,
Were there three Porpoifes feen above the Bridge,
As they give out? Per. Nay, Sir, be not fo;
I'll tell you a greater Prodigy than these-

Pol. What should these things portend!
Per. The very day

(Let me be fure) that I put forth from London,
There was a Whale discover'd in the River,
As high as Woolwich, that had waited there
(Few know how many Months) for the Subverfion
Of the Stode-Fleet. Pol. Is't poffible? Believe it,
'Twas either fent from Spain, or the Archduke's!
Spinola's Whale, upon my Life, my Credit!
Will they not leave these Projects? Worthy Sir,
Some other News. Per. Faith, Stone the Fool is dead,
And they do lack a Tavern-Fool extremely.

Pol. Is Mafs' Stone dead?

Per. He's dead, Sir; Why? I hope

You thought him not immortal? O, this Knight
(Were he well known) would be a precious Thing
To fit our English Stage: He that should write
But fuch a Fellow, fhould be thought to feign
Extremely, if not maliciously. Pol. Stone dead!
Per. Dead. Lord! How deeply, Sir, you apprehend it?
He was no Kinfman to you? Pol. That I know of.
Well! that fame Fellow was an unknown Fool.

Per. And yet you knew him, it seems? Pol. I did fo,
Sir.

I knew him one of the most dangerous Heads

Living within the State, and fo I held him.

Per. Indeed, Sir? Pol. While he liv'd, in Action,

H