Let out my sides, let out my sides Mos. Contain Your flux of laughter, sir: you know this hope Volp. O, but thy working, and thy placing it! : Mos. Alas, sir, I but do as I am taught; Follow your grave instructions; give them words: Pour oil into their ears: and send them hence. 10 Volp. 'Tis true, 'tis true. What a rare punish ment Is avarice to itself! Mos. Ay, with our help, sir. Volp. So many cares, so many maladies, So many fears attending on old age, Yea, death so often call'd on, as no wish Can be more frequent with 'em, their limbs faint, 20 And all turns air! Who's that there, now? a third? [Another knocks. Mos. Close to your couch again: I hear his voice. It is Corvino, our spruce merchant. Volp. Dead. 31 Mos. Another bout, sir, with your eyes. Who's there? CORVINO, a Merchant, enters. Mos. Signior Corvino! come most wished for! O, How happy were you, if you knew it now! Corv. Why? what? wherein ? Mos. The tardy hour is come, sir. Mos. Not dead, sir, but as good; He knows no man. Corv. How shall I do then? Mos. Why, sir? Corv. I have brought him here a pearl. you, sir: So much remembrance left, as to know Is in his mouth is your pearl orient, sir? Mos. Hark. Volp. Signior Corvino. 10 Mos. He calls you, step and give it him. He's here, sir, And he has brought you a rich pearl. Corv. How do you, sir? Tell him it doubles the twelfth caract. Mos. Sir, He cannot understand, his hearing's gone : And yet it comforts him to see you Corv. Say, I have a diamond for him too. Mos. Best shew 't, sir, Put it into his hand; 'tis only there He apprehends; he has his feeling yet. See how he grasps it! Corv. 'Las, good gentleman! How pitiful the sight is! Mos. Tut, forget, sir. The weeping of an heir should still be laughter, 30 Under a visor. Corv. Why, am I his heir? Mos. Sir, I am sworn, I may not shew the will Till he be dead: but, here has been Corbaccio, Here has been Voltore, here were others too, I cannot number 'em, they were so many, All gaping here for legacies; but I, Taking the vantage of his naming you, (Signior Corvino, Signior Corvino,) took Paper, and pen, and ink, and there I ask'd him, 40 Whom he would have his heir? Corvino. And Who To any question he was silent to, I still interpreted the nods he made Through weakness, for consent: and sent home the others, Nothing bequeath'd them, but to cry, and curse. Corv. O, my dear Mosca. Does he not perceive us? Mos. 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 ; Can he remember. Corv. Has he children? Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars, 10 Gypsies, and Jews, and black-moors, when he was drunk : Knew you not that, sir? 'Tis the common fable, He's the true father of his family, In all, save me but he has given 'em nothing. Corv. That's well, that's well. Art sure he does not hear us? Mos. Sure, sir? why look you, credit your own sense. 20 The pox approach, and add to your diseases, Corv. Or, like an old smok'd wall, on which the rain Ran down in streaks. 30 Discharged in his ear would hardly bore it. Corv. His nose is like a common sewer, running. Mos. 'Tis good; and what his mouth? still Corv. A very draught. Pray you let me. Faith I could stifle him rarely with a pillow, Mos. Be so; It is your presence makes him last so long. Mos. No, sir, why? 10 Why should you be thus scrupulous? 'Pray you, sir. Corv. Nay, at your discretion. Mos. Corv. Mos. Well, good sir, be gone. I will not trouble him now, to take my pearl. care What a needless 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 Mosca ! Thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion, 20 My partner, and shall share in all my fortunes. [Exit. Volp. My divine Mosca ! Thou hast to-day outgone thyself. XXXVII. CATILINE HIS CONSPIRACY: A TRAGEDY. BY THE SAME. The morning of the Conspiracy.-LENTULUS, CETHEGUS, and CATILINE meet before the other Conspirators are ready. Lent. It is methinks a morning full of fate. It riseth slowly, as her sullen car Had all the weights of sleep and death hung at it. And her sick head is bound about with clouds, 30 It does not look as it would have a hail Or health wish'd in it, as on other morns. Cet. Why, all the fitter, Lentulus: our coming Is not for salutation: we have business. Cat. Said nobly, brave Cethegus. Where's Autro nius ? Cet. Is he not come? Cat. Not here. Cet. Not Vargunteius? Cat. Neither. Cet. A fire in their beds and bosoms, That so well serve their sloth rather than virtue. Lent. Both they, Longinus, Lecca, Curius, Cet. Yes! as you, had I not call'd you. Cet. If the gods had call'd 10 20 30 Them to a purpose, they would just have come And the degenerate talking gown run frighted Cat. Spirit of men !! Thou heart of our great enterprise ! how much Cet. O the days Of Sylla's sway, when the free sword took leave 40 |