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ACT I. SCENE I.
OOD Morning to the Day; and next, my Gold:
Open the Shrine, that I may fee
Hail the World's Soul, and mine!
More glad than is
The teeming Earth to fee the long'd for Sun
Peep through the Horns of the Cœleftial Ram,
Am I, to view thy Splendor, dark'ning his;
That lying here, amongst my other Hoards,
Shew'ft like a Flame by Night, or like the Day
Struck out of Chaos when all Darknefs fled
Unto the Center. O thou Son of Sol.
(But brighter than thy Father) let me kifs,
With Adoration, thee, and every Relick
Of facred Treasure in this bleffed Room.
Well did wife Poets by thy glorious Name
Title that Age which they would have the best;
Thou being the beft of Things, and far tranfcending
All Style of Joy, in Children, Parents, Friends,
άκουσε δεξίωμα κάλλισον βροτοιο, Bonds untuр, "dovas Joiαs d'exer Ου παιδες ανθρώποισιν, ο φίλος πάτηρ,
η Κύπρος που τον οφθαλμοις ορα
Ου θαυμ' έρωτας μορφές αύτην τρέφω
VOLPÓN E: Or, Ear!
Or any other waking Dream on Earth.
Thy Looks when they to Venus did ascribe,
They fhould have given her twenty Thousand Cupids:
Such are thy Beauties and our Loves! Dear Saint,
Riches the dumb God, that giv'ft all Men Tongues,
That can't do naught, and yet mak'it Men do all things;
'The Price of Souls; even Hell, with thee to boot,
Is made worth Heav'n. Thou art Virtue, Fame,
Honour, and all things elfe. Who can get thee,
He shall be Noble, Valiant, Honest, Wise
Mof. And what he will, Sir. Riches are in Fortune
A greater Good, than Wisdom is in Nature.
Vol. True, my beloved Mofca. Yet I glory
More in the cunning Purchase of my Wealth,
Than in the glad Poffeffion, fince 1 gain
No common way; I ufe no Trade, no Venture;
I wound no Earth with Plow-fhares, I fat no Beaft
To feed the Shambles: have no Mills for Iron,
Oil, Corn, or Men, to grind 'em into Powder:
I blow no fubtil Glafs, expofe no Ships
To Threatnings of the furrow faced Sea;
I turn no Monies in the Publick Bank,
Nor ufure private. Mof. No, Sir, nor devour
Soft Propigals. You fhall ha' fome will swallow
A melting Heir as glibly as your Dutch
Will Pills of Butter, and ne'er purge for't;
Tear forth the Fathers of poor Families
Out of their Beds, and Coffin them alive
In fome kind clasping Prison, where their Bones
May be forth-coming, when the Flesh is rottten:
But your fweet Nature doth abhor these Courses;
You loath the Widows or the Orphans Tears
Should wash your Pavements, or their piteous Cries
Ring in your Roofs, and beat the Air for Vengeance.
Vol. Right, Mofca. I do loath it. Mof. And befides, Sir,
You are not like a Thresher that doth stand
With a huge Flail, watching a heap of Corn,
And, hungry, dares not taste the smallest Grain
But feeds on Mallows, and fuch bitter Herbs;
Nor like the Merchant, who hath fill'd his Vaults
Take of my Hand; thou frik'ft on Truth in all
And they are envious term thee Parafite.
Call forth my Dwarf, my Eunuch, and my Fool,
And let 'em make me Sport. What should I do,
But cocker up my Genius, and live free
To all delights my Fortune calls me to?
I have no Wife, no Parent, Child, Ally,
To give my Substance to; but whom I make
Muft be my Heir; and this makes Men obferve me:
This draws new Clients daily to my House,
Women and Men, of every Sex and Age,
That bring me Prefents, fend me Plate, Coin, Jewels,
With hope that when I die (which they expect
Each greedy Minute) it fhall then return
Ten-fold upon them; whil'ft fome, covetous
Above the reft, fee to engross me whole,
And counter-work the one unto the other,
Contend in Gifts, as they would feem in Love:
All which I fuffer, playing with their Hopes,
$ And am content to coin 'em into Profit,
1: And look upon their Kindness, and take more,
And look on that; ftill bearing them in hand,
Letting the Cherry knock against their Lips,
And draw it by their Mouths, and back again. How now!
With Romagnia, and rich Candian Wines,
Yet drinks the Lees of Lombards Vinegar:
You will not lie in Straw, while Moths and Worms
Feed on your fumptuous Hangings and foft Beds,
You know the Ufe of Riches, and dare give now
From that bright Heap, to me your poor Obferver,
Or to your Dwarf, or your Hermaphrodite,
Your Eunuch, or what other Houthold Trifle
Your Pleasure allows Maintenance-Vol. Hold thee,
Nano, Androgyno, Caftrone, Volpone, Mosca.
OW room for fresh Gamefters, who do will you to
They do bring you neither Play, nor University show;
And therefore do intreat you, that whatsoever they re hearse,
May not fare a whit the worse, for the falfe Pace of the Verfe.
If you wonder at this, you will wonder more e'er we pass,
For know, here is inclos'd the Soul of Pythagoras,
That Juggler Divine, as hereafter shall follow;
Which Soul (faft and loofe, Sir) came firft from Apollo, And was breath'd into Æthalides, Mercurius his Son, Where it had the Gift to remember all that ever was done.
From thence it fled forth, and made quick Tranfmigration, To goldy-lock'd Euphorbus, who was kill'd in good fashion,
At the Siege of old Troy, by the Cuckold of Sparta.
Hermotimus was next, (I find it in my Charta)
To whom it did pass, where no fooner it was miffing,
But with one Pyrrhus of Delos it learn'd to go e
And thence did it enter the Sophift of Greece.
From Pythagore, fhe went into a beautiful Piece, Hight Afpafia the Meretrix; and the next Tofs of her Was again of a Whore, he became a Philofopher, Crates the Cynick (as it felf doth relate it)
Since Kings, Knights, and Beggars, Knaves, Lords, and Fools gat it,
Befides Ox and Afs, Camel, Mule, Goat, and Brock,
In all which it hath spoke, as in the Cobler's Cock.
But I come not here to difcourfe of that Matter,
Or his One, Two, or Three, or his great Oath, By
His Muficks, his Trigon, his Golden Thigh,
Or his telling how Elements fhift; but I
Would ask, how of late thou haft fuffer'd Tranflation,
And fifted thy Coat in thefe Days of Reformation?
And. Like one of the Reformed, a Fool, as you fee,
Counting all old Doctrine Herefie.
Nan. But not on thine own forbid Meats haft thou ven
And. On Fish, when firft a Carthufian I enter'd.
Nan. Why, then thy dogmatical Silence hath left thee?
And. Of that an obftreperous Lawyer bereft me.
Nan. O wonderful Change! When Sir Lawyer forfook
For Pythagore's fake, what Body then took thee? And. A good dull Moyl. Nan. And how! by that means Thou wert brought to allow of the eating of Beans ? And. Yes. Nan. But from the Moyl into whom didft
And. Into a very strange Beaft, by fome Writers call'd an Afs;
By others, a precife, pure, illuminate Brother,
Of thofe devour Flesh, and fometimes one another; And will drop you forth a Libel, or a fanctify'd Lye; Betwixt every Spoonful of a Nativity-Pie:
Nan. Now quit thee, for Heaven, of that profane Na
And gently report thy next Tranfmigration.
And. To the fame that I am. Nan. A Creature of De-
And (what is more than a Fool) an Hermaphrodite ?
Now prithee, Sweet Soul, in all thy Variation,
Which Body would't thou choose, to keep up thy Station?
And. Troth, this I am in: even here would I tarry.
Nan. Caufe here the Delight of each Sex thou can't
And. Alas, thofe Pleafures be ftale and forfaken;
No, 'tis yonr Fool wherewith I am so taken,
The only one Creature that I can call blessed;
For all other Forms I have prov'd most diftreffed.
Nan. Spoke true, as thou wert in Pythagoras fill.
This learned Opinion we celebrate will,
Fellow Eunuch (it behoves us) with all our Wit and Art,
To dignify that whereof our felves are so great and
Special a Part.
Vol. Now, very, very pretty: Mofca, this
Was thy Invention? Mof. If it please my Patron,
Not elfe. Vol. It doth, good Mofca. Mof. Then it