So, of the reft, till we have quite run through,
And wearied all the Fables of the Gods.
Then will I have thee in more modern Forms,
Attired like fome fprightly Dame of France,
Brave Tufcan Lady, or proud Spanish Beauty;
Sometimes, unto the Perfian Sophi's Wife;
Or the Grand Signior's Miftrefs; and, for change,
To one of our most artful Courtizans,

Or fome quick Negro, or cold Russian;
And I will meet thee in as many Shapes:
Where we may fo transfufe our wandring Souls:
Out at our Lips, and score up
Sums of Pleasures,»

That the Curious shall not know
How to tell them as they flow;
And the envious when they find
What their Number is, be pin'd.

Cel. If you have Ears that will be pierc'd; or
Eyes
That can be open'd; a Heart may be touch'd;
Or any part, that yet founds Man about you:
If you have touch of holy Saints, or Heaven,
Do me the Grace to let me 'fcape. If not,
Be bountiful, and kill me. You do know,
I am a Creature, hither ill betray'd,

By one, whofe Shame I would forget it were;
If you will deign me neither of thefe Graces,
Yet feed your Wrath, Sir, rather than your Luft ; -
(It is a Vice comes nearer Manliness)

And punish that unhappy Crime of Nature,
Which you mifcall my Beauty: flay my Face,
Or poyfon it with Ointments, for feducing
Your Blood to this Rebellion. Rub thefe Hands,
With what may cause an eating Leprofie,
E'en to my Bones and Marrow: any thing,'
That may disfavour me, fave in my Honour.
And I will kneel to you, pray for you, pay down
A thousand hourly Vows, Sir, for your Health,
Report, and think you vertuous- -Volp. Think me

cold,

Frozen and impotent, and fo report me ? :
C 5

That

That I had Neftor's Hernia, thou would'ft think.
I do degenerate, and abuse my Nation,
To play with Opportunity thus long:

I should have done the Act, and then have parley'd,
Yield, or I'll force thee. Cel. O! just God. Volp. In vain—
Bon. Forbear, foul Ravisher, libidinous Swine,
Free the forc'd Lady, or thou dy'ft, Impoftor.

[He leaps out from where Mofca had placed him:
But that I am loth to fnatch the Punishment
Out of the Hand of Juftice, thou shouldft, yet,
Be made the timely Sacrifice of Vengeance,
Before this Altar, and this Drofs, thy Idol,
Lady, let's quit the Place, it is the Den
Of Villany; fear naught, you have a Guard:
And he, e're long, fhall meet his juft Reward.
Volp. Fallon me, Roof, and bury me in Ruin
Become my Grave, that wert my Shelter. O!
I am unmask'd, unfpirited, undone,
Betray'd to Beggery, to Infamy-

SCENE VIII.
Mofca, Volpone.

Mof. Where fhall I run, moft wretched Shame of Men, To beat out my unlucky Brains. Volp. Here, here. What! Doft thou bleed? Mof. O that his well-driv'n Sword

Had been fo covetous to have cleft me now

Unto the Navel, e're I liv'd to fee

My Life, my Hopes, my Spirits, my Patron, all
Thus defperately engaged, by my Error.

Volp. Woon thy Fortune. Mof. And my Follies, Sir.
Volp. Th' haft made me miferable. Mof. And my
felf, Sir.

Who would have thought he would have hearkned so ?
Volp. What fhall we do? Mof. I know not; if my heart
Could expiate the Mifchance, I'ld pluck it out,
Will you be pleas'd to hang me, or cut my Throat?
And I'll requite you, Sir. Let's die like Romans,
Since we have liv'd like Grecians.

Volp. Hark, who's there?

[They knock without.

I hear fome Footing; Officers, the Saffi,

Come to apprehend us; I do feel the Brand

Hifling already at my Forehead; now,

Mine Ears are boring. Mof. To your Couch, Sir, you
Make that Place good however. Guilty Men
Sufpect what they deferve ftill. Signior Corbaccio!

Corbaccio, Mofca, Voltore, Volpone.

Corb. Why, how now, Mofca?

Mofc. O, undone, amaz'd, Sir.

Your Son (I know not by what Accident)
Acquainted with your Purpofe to my Patron,
Touching your Will, and making him your Heir,
Entred our House with Violence, his Sword drawn.
Sought for you, call'd you Wretch, unnatural,
Vow'd he would kill you.

Corb. Me? Mof. Yes, and my Patron.

Carb. This Act fhall difinherit him indeed:

Here is the Will. Mof. 'Tis well, sir. Corb. Right and ⠀
well.

Be you as careful now for me. Mof. My Life, Sir,
Is not more tender'd. I am only yours.

Corb. How does he? will he die fhortly, think'st thou
Mof. I fear, he'll out-laft May.

Corb. To day? Mof. No, lait out May, Sir..
Corb Could it thou not gi' him a Dram ?

Mof. O, by no means, Sir.

Corb. Nay, I'll not bid you. Volt. This is a Knave, I

fee.

Mof. How, Signior Voltore! Did he hear me?
Volt. Parafite.

Mof. Who's that? O, Sir, moft timely welcome-
Volt. Scarce, to the difcovery of your Tricks. I fear.
You are his only? and mine alfo ? are you not?

Mof. Who? I, Sir! Volt. You, Sir. What device is this
About a Will? Mof. A Plot for you, Sir. Volt. Come,
Put not
your Foifts upon me, I fhall fcent 'em..

Muf

Mof. Did you not hear it?
Volt. Yes, I hear, Corbaccio

Hath made your Patron there his Heir.

By my Device, drawn to it by my Plot.

Mof. 'Tis true.

With hope Volt. Your Patron fhould reciprocate?,
And you have promis'd? Mof. 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 perfwaded to it by this Thought, Sir.
That the unnaturalness, firft, of the Act,
And then his Father's oft difclaiming in him,
(Which I did mean t'help on) would fure enrage him
To do fome Violence upon his Parent,

On which the Law fhould take fufficient hold,
And be stated in double Hope:

you

Truth be my Comfort, and my Confcience,
My only Aim was to dig you a Fortune
Out of these two old rotten Sepulchres-
Volt. (I cry thee Mercy, Mofca.)
Mof. Worth your Patience,

And your great Merit, Sir. And fee the Change!
Volt. Why, what Success?

Mof. Moft haplefs! You must help, Sir.
Whilft we expected the old Raven, in comes
Corvino's Wife, fent hither by her Husband-

Volt. What, with a Prefent? Mof. No, Sir, on Vifi
tation :

(I'll tell you how anon) and ftaying long,
The Youth he grows impatient, rushes forth,
Seizeth the Lady, wounds me, makes her swear
(Or he would murder her, that was his Vow),
Taffirm my Patron to have done her Rape,
Which how unlike it is, you fee; and hence
With that Pretext he's gone t' accufe his Father,
Defame my Patron, defeat you-

Volt. Where's her Husband?

Let him be fent for ftraight. Mof. Sir, I'll go fetch him. Velt. Bring him to the Scrutineo. Mof. Sir, I will. Volt. This muit be ftopt. Mof. O you do nobly, Sir. Alas, 'twas labour'd all, Sir, for your good;

Nor

Nor was there want of Counsel in the Plot:
But Fortune can, at any time, o'erthrow
The Projects of a hundred Learned Clerks, Sir.
Corb. What's that F

Volt. Will't please you, Sir, to go along?

Mof. Patron, go in, and pray for our Succefs. Volp. Need makes Devotion: Heaven your Labour blefs:

Pol.

A CT IV.

I

SCENE I..

Politick, Peregrine.

Told you, Sir, it was a Plot; you fee What Obfervation is. You mention'd me For fome Inftructions: I will tell you, Sir, (Since we are met here in the Height of Venice) Some few Particulars, I have fet down, Only for this Meridian, fit to be known Of your crude Traveller; and they are these. I will not touch, Sir, at your Phrase, or Clothes, For they are old. Per. Sir, I have better. Pol. Pardon, I meant, as they are Themes. Per. O, Sir, proceed : I'll flander you no more of Wit, good Sir.

Pol. First, for your Garb, it must be grave and ferious, Very referv'd and lockt; not tell a Secret

On any terms, not to your Father; scarce
A Fable, but with caution: Make fure choice
Both of your Company, and Difcourfe; beware
You never speak a truth

Strangers,

Per. How. Pol. Not to

For those be they you must converse with moft:
Others I would not know, Sir, but at distance,
So as I ftill might be a Saver in 'em :

You shall have Tricks elfe paft upon you hourly.
And then, for your Religion, profess none,
But wonder at the diverfity of all ;

And, for your part, proteft, were there no other

But fimply the Laws o' th' Land, you could content you, Nic. Machiavel, and Monfieur Bodine, both

Were