Volpone and Other Plays (10 page)

MOSCA
:                                               Best show 't, sir,

Put it into his hand; ‘tis only there

He apprehends, he has his feeling yet.

See how he grasps it!

20    
CORVINO
:                              'Las, good gentleman!

How pitiful the sight is!

MOSCA
:                                  Tut, forget, sir.

The weeping of an heir should still be laughter

Under a
visor
.

CORVINO
:                              Why, am I his heir?

MOSCA
: Sir, I am sworn, I may not show 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,

30        ‘Signior Corvino, Signior Corvino, 'took

Paper, and pen, and ink, and there I asked him

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 th'others,

Nothing bequeathed them but to cry and curse.

They embrace
.

CORVINO
: O, my dear Mosca. Does he not perceive us?

MOSCA
: No more than a blind harper. He knows no man,

40        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

CORVINO
:                              Has he children?

MOSCA
:                                                                 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.

50   
CORVINO
: That's well, that's well. Art sure he does not hear us?

MOSCA
: Sure, sir? why, look you, credit your own sense. –

[
He shouts at
VOLPONE
.]

The pox approach and add to your diseases,

If it would send you hence the sooner, sir!

For your incontinence, it hath deserved 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,

Covered with hide instead of skin (Nay, help, sir)

60        That look like frozen dish-clouts set on end.

CORVINO
: Or, like an old smoked wall, on which the rain

Ran down in streaks.

MOSCA
:                              Excellent, sir, speak out.

You may be louder yet; a
culverin

Discharged in his ear would hardly bore it.

CORVINO
: His nose is like a common sewer, still running.

MOSCA
: 'Tis good! And what his mouth?

CORVINO
:                                                     A very draught.

MOSCA
: O, stop it up –

CORVINO
:                              By no means.

MOSCA
:                                                           Pray you, let me.

Faith I could stifle him rarely with a pillow,

As well as any woman that should keep him.

70    
CORVINO
: Do as you will, but I'll be gone.

MOSCA
:                                                            Be so.

It is your presence makes him last so long.

CORVINO
: I pray you, use no violence.

MOSCA
:                                                           No, sir? Why?

Why should you be thus scrupulous, pray you, sir?

CORVINO
: Nay, at your discretion.

MOSCA
:                                              Well, good sir, be gone.

CORVINO
: I will not trouble him now to take my pearl?

MOSCA
: Puh! nor your diamond. What a needless care

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?

CORVINO
:                                           Grateful Mosca!

80        Thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion,

My partner, and shalt share in all my fortunes.

MOSCA
: Excepting one.

CORVINO
:                              What's that?

MOSCA
:                                                           Your gallant wife, sir.

[
Exit
CORVINO
.]

Now is he gone; we had no other means

To shoot him hence but this.

VOLPONE
:                                          My divine Mosca!

Thou hast today outgone thyself.

Another knocks
.

                                                             Who's there?

I will be troubled with no more. Prepare

Me music, dances, banquets, all delights;

The Turk is not more sensual in his pleasures

Than will Volpone.

[
Exit
MOSCA
.]

                                       Let me see: a pearl!

90        A diamond! plate! chequins! Good morning's purchase.

Why, this is better than rob churches, yet,

Or
fat
, by eating once a month a man.

[
Enter
MOSCA
.]

Who is 't?

MOSCA
:                The beauteous lady would-be, sir,

Wife to the English knight, Sir Politic Would-be,

(This is the style, sir, is directed me)

Hath sent to know how you have slept tonight,

And if you would be visited?

VOLPONE
:                                        Not now.

Some three hours hence, –

MOSCA
:                                   I told the squire so much.

VOLPONE
: When I am high with mirth and wine, then, then.

100      ‘Fore heaven, I wonder at the desperate valour

Of the bold English, that they dare let loose

Their wives to all encounters!

MOSCA
:                                           Sir, this knight

Had not his name for nothing; he is politic,

And knows, howe'er his wife affect strange airs,

She hath not yet the face to be dishonest.

But had she Signior Corvino's wife's face –

VOLPONE
: Has she so rare a face?

MOSCA
:                                             O, sir, the wonder,

The blazing star of Italy! a wench

O'the first year! a beauty ripe as harvest!

110      Whose skin is whiter than a swan, all over!

Than silver, snow, or lilies! a soft lip,

Would tempt you to eternity of kissing!

And flesh that melteth in the touch to blood!

Bright as your gold! and lovely as your gold!

VOLPONE
: Why had not I known this before?

MOSCA
:                                                                  Alas, sir,

Myself but yesterday discovered it.

VOLPONE
: How might I see her?

MOSCA
:                                             O, not possible;

She's kept as warily as is your gold,

Never does come abroad, never takes air

120      But at a window. All her looks are sweet

As the first grapes or cherries, and are watched

As near as they are.

VOLPONE
:                              I must see her –

MOSCA
:                                                           Sir,

There is a guard, of ten spies thick, upon her;

All his whole household; each of which is set

Upon his fellow, and have all their charge,

When he goes out, when he comes in, examined.

VOLPONE
: I will go see her, though but at her window.

MOSCA
: In some disguise then.

VOLPONE
:                                     That is true. I must

Maintain mine own shape still the same: we'll think.

[
Exeunt
.]

              [
The Public Square outside Corvino's house
.]

      [
Enter
SIR
POLITIC WOULD–BE
and
PEREGRINE
.]

[
SIR
POLITIC:] Sir, to a wise man, all the world's his soil.

It is not Italy, nor France, nor Europe,

That must bound me, if my fates call me forth.

Yet, I protest, it is no
salt
desire

Of seeing countries, shifting a religion,

Nor any disaffection to the state

Where I was bred, and unto which I owe

My dearest plots, hath brought me out; much less

That idle, antique, stale, grey-headed project.

10        Of knowing men's minds, and manners, with Ulysses;

But a peculiar humour of my wife's,

Laid for this height
of Venice, to observe,

To quote, to learn the language, and so forth –

I hope you travel, sir,
with licence?

PEREGRINE
:                                                           Yes.

SIR POLITIC
: I dare the safelier converse – How long, sir,

Since you left England?

PEREGRINE
:                                Seven weeks.

SIR POLITIC:
                                                      So lately!

You ha'not been with my Lord Ambassador?

PEREGRINE
: Not yet, sir.

SIR POLITIC
:                              Pray you, what news, sir,
vents our climate?

I heard last night a most strange thing reported

20        By some of my lord's followers, and I long

To hear how 'twill be seconded.

PEREGRINE
:                                          What was't, sir?

SIR POLITIC
: Marry, sir, of a raven, that should build

In a ship royal of the King's.

PEREGRINE
[
aside
]:                              – This fellow,

Does he gull me, trow? or is gulled? – Your name, sir?

SIR POLITIC
: My name is Politic Would-be.

PEREGRINE
[
aside
]:                                       – O, that
speaks
him–

A knight, sir?

SIR POLITIC
: A poor knight, sir.

PEREGRINE
:                                    Your lady

Lies here, in Venice, for intelligence

Of
tires
, and fashions, and behaviour

Among the courtesans? The fine Lady Would-be?

30    
SIR POLITIC
: Yes, sir, the spider and the bee oft-times

Suck from one flower.

PEREGRINE
:                              Good Sir Politic!

I cry you mercy; I have heard much of you.

'Tis true, sir, of your raven.

SIR POLITIC
:                                      On your knowledge?

PEREGRINE
: Yes, and your
lion's
whelping in the Tower.