Let out my sides, let out my sides

Mos. Contain
Your flux of laughter, sir : you know this hope
Is such a bait it covers any hook.

Volp. 0, but thy working, and thy placing it !
I cannot hold : good rascal, let me kiss thee :
I never knew thee in so rare a humour.

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.

Dolp. 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, Their senses dull, their seeing, hearing, going, All dead before them ; yea, their very teeth, Their instruments of eating, failing them : 20 Yet this is reckon'd life! Nay, here was one, Is now gone home, that wishes to live longer ! Feels not his gout, nor palsy ; feigns himself Younger by scores of years, flatters his age, With confident belying it, hopes he may With charms, like Æson, have his youth restored : And with these thoughts so battens, as if Fate Would be as easily cheated on, as he : 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.

31 Volp. Dead. 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.
Corv. He is not dead ?

20

Mos. Not dead, sir, but as good ;
He knows no man.

Cory. How shall I do then ?
Mos. Why, sir ?
Corv. I have brought him here a pearl.

Mos. Perhaps he has
So much remembrance left, as to know you, sir :
He still calls on you : nothing but your name
Is in his mouth : is your pearl orient, sir ?

Corv. Venice was never owner of the like. 10
Volp. Signior Corvino.
Mos. Hark.
Volp. Signior Corvino.
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. Who Should be executor? Corvino. And

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 ;
Not those he hath begotten, or brought up,
Can he remember.
Corv. Has he children ?

10
Mos. Bastards,
Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars,
Gypsies, and Jews, and black-moors, when he was

drunk : Knew you not that, sir ? 'Tis the common fable, The dwarf, the fool, the eunuch, are all his : 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

20 The pox approach, and add to your diseases, If it would send you hence the sooner, sir, For your incontinence, it hath deserv'd it Throughly, and throughly, and the plague to boot. (You may come near, sir,) would you would once close Those filthy eyes of yours that flow with slime, Like two frog-pits : and those same hanging cheeks, Cover'd with hide, instead of skin : (nay help, sir,) That look like frozen dish-clouts set on end. Corv. Or, like an old smok'd wall, on which the rain

30 Ran down in streaks.

Mos. Excellent, sir, speak out ;
You may be louder yet: a culverin
Discharged in his ear would hardly bore it.
Corv. His nose is like a common sewer, still

running
Mos. 'Tis good ; and what his mouth?

sense.

Corv. A very draught.
Mos. O, stop it up-
Corv. By no means.

Mos. Pray you let me.
Faith I could stifle him rarely with a pillow,
As well as any woman that should keep him.

Corv. Do as you will, but I'll begone.

Mos. Be so ;
It is your presence makes him last so long.
Corv. I pray you use no violence.

10 Mos. No, sir, why ? Why should you be thus scrupulous ? 'Pray you, sir,

Corv. Nay, at your discretion.
Mos. Well, good sir, be gone.
Corv. I will not trouble him now, to take my pearl.

Mos. Puh, nor your diamond. 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,
My partner, and shall share in all my fortunes. (Exit.

Volp. My divine Mosca !
Thou hast to-day outgone thyself.

care

20

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. She is not rosy-finger’d, but swoll'n black. Her face is like a water turn'd to blood, And her sick head is bound about with clouds, 30 As if she threaten'd night ere noon of day.

10

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, hrave 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.
They are no Romans, and at such high need
As now

Lent. Both they, Longinus, Lecca, Curius,
Fulvius, Gabinus, gave me word last night,
By Lucius Bestia, they would all be here,
And early.

Cet. Yes! as you, had I not call'd you.
Come, we all sleep, and are mere dormice ; flies
A little less than dead : more dullness hangs 20
On us than on the morn. We're spirit-bound
In ribs of ice ; our whole bloods are one stone:
And honour cannot thaw us, nor our wants,
Though they burn hot as fevers to our states.

Cat. I muse they would be tardy at an hour
Of so great purpose.

Cet. If the gods had callid
Them to a purpose, they would just have come
With the same tortoise speed ; that are thus slow
To such an action, which the gods will envy, 30
As asking no less means than all their powers
Conjoin'd to effect. I would have seen Rome burnt
By this time, and her ashes in an urn:
The kingdom of the senate rent asunder:
And the degenerate talking gown run frighted
Out of the air of Italy.

Cat. Spirit of men !!
Thou heart of our great enterprise ! how much
I love these voices in thee !
Cet. O the days

40
Of Sylla's sway, when the free sword took leave
To act all that it would !