Should ha' confirm'd thee. Come, I am not Jealous: Cel. No Corv. 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 'gainst all the Watches o' the World?
And that the fierceft Spies are tam'd with Gold?
Tut, I am confident in thee, thou fhalt fee't :
And fee, I'll give thee caufe too, to believe it.
Come, kifs me. Go, and make thee ready straight,
In all thy beft Attire, thy choiceft Jewels,
Put 'em all on, and, with 'em, thy best Looks:
We are invited to a folemn Feast,
At old Volpone's, where it fhall appear
How far I'm free, from Jealoufie to fear.
Mof. Fear, I fhall begin to grow in Love
I
With my dear felf, and my moft profp❜rous
Parts,
They do fo fpring and burgeon; I can feel
A Whimfie i' my Blood: (I know not how)
Succefs hath made me wanton. I could skip
Out of my Skin, now like a fubtil Snake,
I am fo limber. O! Your Parafite
Is a moft precious thing, dropt from above,
Not bred 'mong ft Clods and Clot-pouls, here on Earth.
I muse, the Mystery was not made a Science,
It is fo liberally profeft! almost
All the wife World is little elfe, in Nature,
But Parafites, or Sub-parafites. And, yet,
I mean not thofe that have your bare Town-art,
To know, who's fit to feed 'em; have no Houfe,
No Family, no Care, and therefore mould
Tales for Mens Ears, to beat that Senfe; or get
Kitchen-invention, and fome ftale Receipts
To please the Belly, and the Groin; nor those,
With their Court-dog Tricks, that can fawn and fleer,
Make their Revenue out of Legs and Faces,
Eccho my Lord, and lick away a Moth:
But your fine elegant Rafcal, that can rife,
And ftoop (almost together) like an Arrow,
Shoot through the Air as nimbly as a Star?
Turn fhort, as doth a Swallow; and be here,
And there, and here, and yonder all at once;
Prefent to any Humour, all Occafion;
And change a Vifor, fwifter than a Thought!
This is the Creature had the Art born with him,
Toils not to learn it, but doth practise it
Out of most excellent Nature: and fuch Sparks.
Are the true Parafites, others but their Zani's.
SCENE II.
Mofca, Bonario.
Mof. Who's this? Bonario? old Corbaccio's Son ? The Perfon I was bound to feek. Fair Sir,
You are happily met. Bon. That cannot be by thee. Mof. Why, Sir? Bon. Nay, prithee know thy way, and leave me:
I would be loth to interchange Difcourse,
With fuch a Mate as thou art. Mof. Courteous Sir,
Scorn not my Poverty. Bon. Not I, by Heaven:
But thou shalt give me leave to hate thy Baseness.
Mof. Bafenefs? Bon. I, anfwer me, is not thy Sloth Sufficient Argument? thy Flattery?
Thy means of feeding? Mof. Heaven, be good to me. These Imputations are too common, Sir,
And easily ftruck on Virtue, when she's poor;
You are unequal to me, and how e're
Your Sentence may be righteous, yet you are not,
That, e're you know me, thus, proceed in Cenfure :
St. Mark bear witnefs 'gainft you, 'tis inhuman.
Bon. What does he weep? the Sign is soft, and good!'
I do repent me that I was fo harsh.
Mof. 'Tis true, that, sway'd by strong Neceffity,
I am enforc'd to eat my careful Bread
With too much Obfequy; 'tis true, befide,
That I am fain to fpin mine own poor Raiment,
Out of my meer Obfervance, being not born
To a free Fortune: but that I have done
Bafe Offices, in rending Friends afunder,
Dividing Families, betraying Counsels,
Whispering falfe Lies, or mining Men with Praises,
Train'd their Credulity with Perjuries,
Corrupted Chastity, or am in Love
With mine own tender Eafe, but would not rather
Prove the most rugged, and laborious Course,
That might redeem my prefent Estimation;
Let me here perish, in all hope of Goodness.
Bon. This cannot be a perfonated Paffion!
I was to blame, fo to mistake thy Nature;
Prithee forgive me: and fpeak out thy Bufinefs.
Mof. Sir, it concerns you; and though I may seem,
At first to make a main Öffence 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 muft reveal it.
This very hour your Father is in purpose
To difinherit you-Bon. How! Moj. And thrust you forth,
As a meer Stranger to his Blood; 'tis true, Sir:
The Work no way ingageth me, but, as
I claim an Intereft in the general State
Of Goodness and true Virtue, which I hear
T'abound in you: and, for which meer Respect,
Without a fecond Aim, Sir, I have done it.
Bon. This Tale hath loft thee much of the late Truft, Thou hadst with me; 'tis impoffible:
I know not how to lend it any Thought,
My Father should be fo unnatural.
Mof. It is a Confidence, that well becomes
Your Piety; and form'd (no doubt) it is
From your own fimple Innocence: which makes
Your Wrong more monftrous and abhor'd. But, Sir,
I now will tell you more. This very Minute,
It is, or will be doing: And, if you
Shall be but pleas'd to go with me, I'll bring you,
(I dare not fay where you fhall fee, but) where
Your Ear fhall be a Witness of the Deed;
Hear your felf written Bastard: and profest
The common Iffue of the Earth.
Mof. Sir, if I do it not, draw your juft Sword, And score your Vengeance, on my Front and Face; Mark me your Villain: You have too much Wrong, And I do fuffer for you, Sir. My Heart
Weeps Blood in Anguish-Bon. Lead. I follow thee.
SCENE III.
Volpone, Nano, Androgyno, Caftrone.
Vol. Mofca ftays long methinks. Bring forth your
Sports.
And help to make the wretched Time more fweet.
Nan. Dwarf, Fool, and Eunuch, well met here we be.
A Queftion it were now, whether of us three,
Being all the known delicates of a rich Man,
In pleafing him, claim the Precedency can?
Caf. I claim for my felf. And. And, fo doth the Fool.
Nan. 'Tis foolish indeed: let me fet you both to School.
Firft, for your Dwarf, he's little and witty,
And every thing, as it is little, is pretty;
E Elfe why do Men fay to a Creature of my Shape,
So foon as they fee him, it's a pretty little Ape?
And why a pretty Ape? but for pleafing Imitation
Of greater Mens Actions, in a ridiculous Fashion.
Befide this feat Body of mine doth not crave
Half the Meat, Drink, and Cloth, one of your Bulks
will have.
Admit your Fools Face be the Mother of Laughter,
Yet, for his Brain, it must always come after:
And though that do feed him, it's a pitiful Cafe,
His Body is beholding to fuch a bad Face.
Volp. Who's there? my Couch, away, look, Nano,
[One knocks.
Give me my Caps, firft-go, enquire. Now, Cupid, Send it by Mofca, and with fair return.
Nan. It is the beauteous Madam-Volp. Would-be -is it?
Nan. The fame. Volp. Now torment on me; Squire
her in :
For fhe will enter or dwell here for ever.
Nay, quickly, that my Fit were paft. I fear
A fecond Hell too, that my loathing this
Will quite expel my Appetite to the other
Would the were taking now her tedious leave,
Lord how it threats me what I am to fuffer.
SCENE IV.
Lady, Volpone, Nano, Women 2.
Lady. I thank you, good Sir. 'Pray you fignifie
Unto your Patron, I am here. This Band
Shews not my Neck enough (I trouble you, Sir,
Let me request you, bid one of my Women
Come hither to me) in good faith, I am drest
Moft favourably to day; it is no matter,
'Tis well enough. Look, fee, these petulant things! How they have done this! Velp. I do feel the Fever Entring in at mine Ears; O, for a Charm,
To fright it hence. Lad. Come nearer: is this Curl
In his right Place? or this? why is this higher
Than all the reft? You not wafh'd your Eyes, yet?
Or do they not ftand even i' your Head?
Where's your fellow ? call her. Nan. Now, St. Mark
Deliver us; Anon, fhe'll beat her Women,
Because her Nofe is red. Lad. I pray you, view
This Tire, forfooth: Are all things apt or no?
Wom. One Hair a little here, sticks out forfooth.
Lad. Dos't fo forfooth? And where was your dear
fight
When it did fo forfooth? What now? Bird-ey'd ?
And you too? 'Pray you both approach, and mend it.
Now (by that light) I mufe, yo'are not asham'd!
I, that have preach'd these things, so oft, unto you,
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