My Fortune foberly? I must ha' my Crotchets !
And my Conundrums! Well, go you, and feek him:
His Meaning may be truer than my Fear.
Bid him, he ftreight come to me to the Court;
Thither will I, and, if't be poffible,
Unfcrew my Advocate, upon new Hopes:
When I provok'd him, then I loft my self.

XII.

SCENE

Avocatori, &c.

Avoc. 1. Thefe things can ne'er be reconcil'd. He here Profeffeth, that the Gentleman was wrong'd, And that the Gentlewoman was brought thither Forc'd by her Husband, and there left.

Volt. Moft true.

Cel. How ready is Heav'n to those that pray!
Avoc. 1. But that

Volpone would have ravish'd her, he holds
Utterly Falfe, knowing his Impotence.

Corv. Grave Fathers, he is poffeft; again, I fay,
Poffeft: Nay, if there be Poffeffion,
And Obfeffion, he has both. Avoc. 3. Here comes our

Officer.

Volp. The Parafite will straight be here, Grave Fathers.
Avoc. 4. You might invent fome other Name, Sir Varlet.
Avoc. 3. Did not the Notary meet him?
Volp. Not that I know.
Avoc 4. His coming will clear all.
Avoc. 2. Yet it is Miftry.

Volt. May't please your Fatherhoods-
Volp. Sir, the Parafite. [Volpone whispers the Advoc.
Will'd me to tell you, that his Mafter lives
That you are still the Man, your Hopes the fame;
And this was only a Jeft-

Volt. How? Volp. Sir, to try

If you were firm, and how you ftood affected.

Volt. Ar't fure he lives?

Volp. Do I live, Sir? Volt. O me!

I was too violent. Volp. Sir, you may redeem it: They said, you were poffeft; fall down, and feem fo: I'll help to make it Good. God bless the Man!

[Voltore falls. (Stop

(Stop your Wind hard, and fwell) fee, fee, fee, fee!
He vomits crooked Pins! his Eyes are fet,
Like a dead Hares, hung in a Poulterer's Shop!
His Mouth's running away! Do you fee, Seignior?
Now 'tis in his Belly. (Corv. I, the Devil!)

Volp. Now in his Throat. (Corv. I, I perceive it plain. ) Volp.'Twill out, 'twill out, ftand clear. See where it flies, In fhape of a Blue Toad, with Bats Wings!

Do you not fee it, Sir? Corb. What? I think I do.
Corv. 'Tis too manifeft.

Volp. Look! he comes to himself!

Volp. Where am I?

Volp. Take good heart, the worst is past, Sir.
You are difpoffeft. Avoc. 1. What Accident is this?
Avoc. 2. Sudden, and full of wonder ! Av. 3. If he were
Poffeft, as it appears, .all this is nothing:

Corv. He has been often fubject to thefe Fits.
Avoc. 1. Shew him that Writing: Do you know it, Sir?
Volp. Deny it, Sir, forfwear it, know it not.
Volt. Yes, I do know it well, it is my Hand:
But all that it contains, is falfe. Bon. O Practice!

Avoc. 2. What Maze is this! A voc. 1. Is he not guilty
then,

Whom you there name the Parafite? Volt. Grave Fathers,
No more than his good Patron, old Volpone.
Avoc. 4. Why he is Dead?

Volt. Ono, my honour'd Fathers,
He lives Avoc. 1. How? lives?

Volt. Lives. Avoc. 2. This is fubtler yet!
Avoc. 3. You faid he was dead.

Volt. Never. Avoc. 3. You faid so.
Corv. I heard fo.

Av. 4. Here comes the Gentleman, make him way.
Avoc. 3. A Stool.

Avoc. 4. A proper Man; and, were Volpone dead,
A fit Match for my Daughter. Av. 3. Give him way.
Volt. Mofca, I was a'moft left; the Advocate
Had betray'd all; but now it is recover'd ;
All's o' the Hinge again- Say, I am living.

Mof. What butie Knave is this! most rev.rend Fathers,
I fooner had attended your grave Pleasures,

But

my Order for the Funeral

But that
Of my dear Patron did require me -(Volt. Mofca!)
Mof. Whom I intend to bury likea Gentleman..
Volp. I quick, and cozen me of all.

Avoc. 2. Still

Stranger!

Mof. I know

More intricate! Avoc. 1. And come about again!
Avoc. 4. It is a Match, my Daughter is beftow'd.
(Mof. Will you gi' me Half?
Volp. First I'll be hang'd.
Your Voice is good, cry not fo loud.) Avoc. 1. Demand
The Advocate: Sir, did not you affirm
Volpone was alive? Volp. Yes, and he is;
This Gentleman told me fo, (thou shalt have half.)
Mof. Whofe Drunkard is this fame ? Say you?
Speak fome that know him:

I never faw his Face. (I cannot now
Afford it you fo cheap. Volp. No?) Avoc. 1. What fay you?
Volt. The Officer told me. Volp. I did, grave Fathers,
And will maintain he lives, with mine own Life,
And that this Creature told me. (I was born
With all good Stars my Enemies.) Mof. Moft grave Fathers,
If fuch an Infolence as this muft pafs
Upon me, I am filent; 'Twas not this

For which you fent, I hope. Av. 2. Take him away.
(Volp. Mofca!) Avoc. 3. Let him be Whipt.
(Volp. Wilt thou betray me?

Cozen me?) Avoc. 3. And taught to bear himself
Toward a Perfon of his Rank. Avoc. 4. Away.
your Fatherhoods.

Mof. I humbly thank
Valp. Soft, foft, Whipt?
And lofe all that I have? If I confefs,

It cannot be much more. Avoc. 4. Sir, are you Married? Volp. They'll be ally'd anon; I must be refolute : The Fox fhall here uncafe. (Mof. Patron.)

Volp. Nay, now [He puts off his Difguife. My Ruins fhall not come alone; your Match I'll hinder fure: My Subftance fhall not glew you, Nor fcrew you into a Family. (Mof. Why Patron!) Volp. I am Volpone, and this is my Knave; This, his own Knave: This, Avarice's Fool: This, a Chimera of Wittal, Fool and Knave:

And

And Reverend Fathers, fince we all can hope
Nought but a Sentence, let's not now despair it.
You hear me brief.

Corv. May it please your Fatherhoods-Com. Silence.
Avoc. 1. The Knot is now undone by Miracle.
Avoc. 2. Nothing can be more clear.
Avoc. 3. Or can more prove

Thefe Innocent. Avoc. 1. Give them their Liberty: Bon. Heaven could not long let fuch grofsCrimes be hid. Av. 2. If this be held the High-way to get Riches, May I be poor. Avoc. 3. This's not the Gain, but

Torment.

Avoc. 1. These poffefs Wealth, as Sick-men poffefs Fe

vers:

Which trulier may be faid to poffefs them.
Avoc. 2. Difrobe that Parafite.

Corv. Mof. Most honoured Fathers.

Avoc. 1. Can you plead ought to stay the Courfe of Ju

ftice?

If you can, speak.

Cor. Volt. We beg Favour. Cel. And Mercy. Avoc. 1. You hurt your Innocence, fuing for the Guilty. Stand forth; and firft the Parafite. You appear T'have been the chiefeft Minifter, if not Plotter, In all thefe Lewd Impoftures; and now, laftly, Have with your Impudence abus'd the Court, And Habit of a Gentleman of Venice, Being a Fellow of no Birth, or Blood: For which our Sentence is, firft, thou be Whipt; Then live perpetual Prisoner in our Gallies. Volt. I thank you for him.

Mof. Bane to thy Wolvish Nature.

Avoc. 1. Deliver him to the Saffi. Thou Volpone, By Blood and Rank a Gentleman, canst not fall Under like Cenfure; but our Judgment on thee Is, That thy Subftance all be straight Confifcate] To the Hofpital of the Incurabili. And fince the moft was gotten by Impofture, By feigning Lame, Gout, Palfie, and fuch Difcafes, Thou art to lie in Prifon, crampt with Irons, Till thou be'it Sick and Lame indeed. Remove him.

Vol. This is call'd mortifying of a Fox.

Avoc. 1. Thou, Voltore, to take away the Scandal Thou haft given all worthy Men of thy Profeffion, Art banifht from their Fellowship, and our State. Corbaccio, bring him near. We here poffefs Thy Son of all thy State, and confine thee To the Monastery of San' Spirito;

Where fince thou kneweft not how to live well here, Thou shalt be learn'd to die well. Corb. Ha! What faid he? Com. You fhall know anon, Šir.

Avoc. 1. Thou Corvino, fhalt

Be ftraight Imbark'd from thine own Houfe, and Row'd
Round about Venice, through the Grand Canale,
Wearing a Cap, with fair long Affes Ears,
Inftead of Horns; and fo to mount (a Paper
Pinn'd on thy Breaft), to the Berlino-Cort. Yes,
And have mine Eyes beat out with ftinking Fish,
Bruis'd Fruit, and rotten Eggs-'Tis well, I am glad
I fhall not fee my Shame yet. Avoc. 1. And to expiate
Thy Wrongs done to thy Wife, thou art to fend her
Home to her Father, with her Dowry trebled:
And thefe are all your Judgments.

(All. Honour'd Fathers.)

Avoc. 1. Which may not be revok'd. Now you begin, When Crimes are done, and paft, and to be punish'd To think what your Crimes are: Away with them. Let all that fee thefe Vices thus rewarded, Take Heart, and love to ftudy 'em. Mifchiefs feed Like Beasts, till they be Fat, and then they Bleed.

VOLPO N E.

T

HE feafoning of a Play, is the Applause, Now, though the Fox be Punish'd by the Laws, He yet doth Hope there is no Suff'ring due, For any Fact which he hath done 'gainst you: If there be, cenfure him; here he doubtful Stands:

If not, fare Jovially, and Clap your Hands.

THE EN D.